Lacrima Serpentis
by Insecurities
Summary: This story is narrated by Hermione as she goes back to the Wizarding World after neglecting her duties in the Order. Voldemort now rules the land and Harry has lost all faith in his own ability. Hermione has to sacrifice her Muggle marriage and all her mo
1. Chapter 1

I'm now entering what I think is the Great Hall. The grass underneath my feet grows clumpy and muddy; a horrible murky green tinge inhabits the nature of this place. It's just a wreck. I remember when it was much more. My feet stumble over the stones and broken branches. Nature lays scattered all over the aftermath but the wind hasn't yet swept all the memories away. I am sure this is Hogwarts. Yes, I see it now. The way the half demolished walls are shaped, how they are set out. I am no architect but I have the memory of being a student here, when this Hall was a place of absolute wonder. Twelve years it has been since I last walked down this long length to the top table. Now all that is left is the skeleton. Just the essence. I stop. Inhale the memory. And begin to walk again.

No use listening to emotions now, I learnt the hard way not to do that. If I hadn't listened to my fear I would never have left my friends alone, all that time ago. I remember once being classed as brave. They needed me and I didn't even realise it. I brush my defiant hair away from my face; pretend that the tears on my cheeks are just caused by the wind. I know I must search for the one who remains here. The one I came to find. I left my husband and my children to come here. They told me not to come but I felt this was the least I could do after my betrayal. I owe this to him.

I see him where I knew I would. He is sitting on the far end of the long lawn that stretches to a vast lake. The lake still remains, it floods onto the banks like it used to. I don't sense any life in it though. It used to sparkle every once in a while, throughout the day, with the presence of some magical being. I know that most of them are probably dead. No use dwelling on it; I will get back to the matter at hand. The figure crouches, his chin nesting on his knees and his overgrown beard covering all his rosy face. I concentrate on these strange features, the dark long cloak, the disorderly hair, the grubby hands. I concentrate on anything but his eyes. But he turns to me sharply and without warning they pierce me. They light up fiercely with resentment. I look away for a second and when I turn back it isn't his eyes I see. It's his scar. I remember the first time I saw that scar, the gossip and speculation that rose from it. Everyone knew it was the mark of victory against his mortal enemy. Our mortal enemy. What we didn't know was that Harry had won one battle but would be defeated in the war. I look at it now through tears.

But then he smiles. The breath heaves out my body and I realise that I had stopped living for a few seconds beforehand. I am okay now. He does forgive me, I didn't leave my family for nothing. I get straight to the point, "Harry, I am sorry for your great loss. How are you coping?"

He doesn't respond well.

I try again, "Harry. I came to fetch you. Some of the Order's relatives are still alive and remain faithful to you. They say they will protect you from You-Know-Who."

I remember when we used to not mention that demon's name because we were told to fear him. Now we all do fear him.

Harry twitches, "You are lying. They're all gone and if they still dare to be in the country then they will not risk their lives by being seen with me and neither should you."

"Harry you must beli…."

"Stop calling me that name. You say it loud enough for _them_ to hear you."

I shudder, he is right. The Death Eaters are scanning the whole country for Harry and any communication he gives could be tracked by one dark being or another. I have to praise him for coming to this historical and sacred ground that once was Hogwarts, not much magic remains, but enough to cloak him from evil.

"You didn't give up on your own life. I respect you for that. Such intelligence you have to recognise when it is too dangerous and when it is the best time to surrender and retreat. I should have listened to you more. I should have given up sooner before too many of us were killed." He says as he throws stones into the lake; they plop in with a sludgy sound of defeat.

"Your job was to protect the Muggles and you did. Nobody expected any more of you than what you actually accomplished."

Harry stands up in a rage, I manage to see just how untamed he now is. Nothing about him is the sophisticated young man I lost touch with ten years ago.

"I failed. And Voldemort has destroyed the good magic forever because – of – me. Because of my mistakes. Because I thought I was right. Because I wouldn't listen to my friends when they were telling me the truth."

I fall over in shock; the name alone brings pain into my muscles.

"I wish I had been there. I am so sorry."

I kneel on my knees, my skirt being soaked by the muddy rain. I look pathetic; nobody is more pathetic than me. Harry knows this, his eyes look delighted with my suffering. Someone else is suffering but him. Years of isolation, hiding, being on the run must have done this to him. I bring myself to stand up again. Throw my hair far away from my face once again. I look at him with all the bravery I can muster.

"Look what you have become!" I challenge him, standing with my feet firmly on the ground now.

He stares at me through squinted green eyes; I see rings of bruise and tiresome around them. He must have lost his glasses somewhere or taken them off because he can be easily identified by them.

"Why don't you just go back home to your family?" he utters bitterly.

I feel the memory flooding back, how I left the Order of the Phoenix when I was pregnant. My maternal instincts were telling me to protect the baby by keeping clear any type of confrontation or violence. There was plenty of violence, the dark side had killed half of the Order, others were being captured and heaven knows what happened to their poor souls. I knew if I stayed I would soon become their next target. I did what was best for my own survival, not the survival of my friends. My eyes blur. I wipe them and get brought back to where I am. I remember that I have now left my family; I am here for one purpose and that is to help Harry. I move towards him, put my white cold hand onto the rough material of his robe.

I try to comfort him with these words, "The situation we are in is very dark but I still have faith in you and so does the remains of the Order. Come home. It is not too late…"


	2. Chapter 2

"Oi! Two Fire Whiskeys over here!" I yell in a disgruntled manner the barman of the Hogs Head receives daily. I look around as my stranger/friend sits in the furthest, foggiest corner. Many things haven't changed, many figures hover over a strange goblet of smoke, whispering to each other, often passing strange (and what would used to be illegal) items. But the atmosphere has definitely changed, this pub used to be edgy but laughter could still be heard and smiles could be seen through the hovering cloaks. Now grunts and groans could be heard through smirks and grimaces. No one looks to trust anyone, but can you blame them? I don't think I could trust anyone in this pub anymore. So I walk to the furthest and foggiest corner where my companion waits. Harry wears a little too much robes around his face and they bulk up over his chest with his arms wrapped firmly inside. He doesn't look comfortable, he look like he has something to hide. I sigh. Maybe I dragged him away from Hogwarts too early. I just didn't see the sense in keeping him somewhere where all he could do was dwell. At least this place has life, a spirit even if it is a burning one. The Fire Whiskey's arrive shortly after I sit down and I pay the barman quickly and hesitate to say a word to Harry until he is gone.

I hesitated too long, and Harry bores into me instead; "Are you mad bringing me here? You said you knew a safe place where I could shelter."

I look at him strangely, a selfish request, I feel, but I know it is down to his nerves.

"I've asked the landlord for lodgings here tonight", I reply.

"Are you crazy? No, I am sorry but here is too near." I can barely see his face, a skull of worry with swelling eyes.

"Too near to what?"

"The wizarding world. Hogsmeade is being monitored very closely. _They _ know I used to know people from this village."

I sigh. He is defeated. I feel the urge to get up and leave him to sulk but as I do I see him yawn. I wonder how many weeks he has been gazing into the Hogwarts Lake without any real sleep, food. Without any real life.

"I don't care about them at this moment in time. What I care about is you and getting you to rest so that tomorrow, whenever you awake, we will be able to discuss things properly."

"What things are there to discuss?" he asks, bewildered. I wonder now if he really has given up hope. He appears to have cut his mind off from all discussion, like He Who Must Not Be Named has won and that is a fact; there is no room to debate now for Harry. It's just the lack of sleep talking, I assure myself.

"Just go to bed," I demand and pass over an old rusting key which was clearly labelled "4".

He downs the rest of his Fire Whiskey and leaves with a look of great reluctance on his face.

I gesture the barman over: "Another in there please, make it a double."

Numb, I sit there. Six drinks and two hours later. I never used to be a heavy drinker but bad habits develop in bad times. Now, I love to drink. The alcohol oozes through my veins and the room around me blurs. I love the feeling of excommunication it brings. Depression is what my neighbours call it. They say: "That woman is drinking herself into a depression" and my husband tries to stop me. He fails, of course. I guess they care. But I don't. I am too overwhelmed by this self-pity that I fail to notice a figure approaching me. Before I know it he has slammed down my seventh drink in front of me; completely invading my space. He is wearing an outdoor black travelling cloak, which doesn't shock me. Most people are pretending to look dark and mysterious to suit the Dark Lord. It has almost become a fashion. I ignore him, he probably just fancies me.

"Miss Granger?" the man asks.

I slam my drink down immediately, startled by this question. A wave of fear runs through my veins instinctively. Recognition. I have already blown my cover, and Harry's. I have already screwed up. Telepathy, I remind myself, this man may hear my thoughts. But, the name he uses. My old name. My pre-betrayal name. My maiden name. When I used to be Hermione Granger, the smartest and most cocky witch of them all. I shudder to remember her.

I open my mouth, I stutter, "Yes"

The man coughs, and then takes another sip from his goblet.

"Do you know where Potter is?" was the next question.

How do I respond to this one? Leave? Lie? Great, I obviously lost my bravery when I lost my surname.

"What's it to you?" I ask in a discontent manner.

"What it is to every other wizard in the country."

This answer is witty, I guess. I would have said similar. True, every good wizard in the county is praying for Harry's return.

The man continues, "I recognised you as soon as I walked in here about half an hour ago. I've been watching you, though you are too drunk to notice. Lucky really that I am not here to harm you. I just want the information. You wouldn't be back in these parts without the desire to find Potter. You would never have risked it. None of you would have done."

_None of you would have done? _Us? Is he talking about the Order? No, this is too risky. Yet, the voice sounds familiar. Vaguely. It isn't rough but it is cold, smooth but harsh. Unfeeling yet soulful. Evil yet Saved. I know.

"I thought you were dead?" I ask very quietly but with great malice for this man.

"Is that why you left the Order? Because you thought I was dead?"

I felt my heart sharply skip a beat; yes I had left the Order because his supposed death was the one too many. I should have known it was a farce, nothing about him is real.

"That doesn't matter." I shrug off.

"Neither is the fact that I'm dead. You are supposed to be a happily wedded woman who has abandoned your duties as a witch for the duties of a kitchen. Your cover is no different to mine."

I shudder at his obvious chauvinism to my role, however it is true I did become everything I said in Hogwarts I would not become.

"Mine isn't a cover. Can't a woman come for a drink every once in a while? I have nothing to hide!"

I get angry, or is it just the drink talking now?

"Smart witches don't drink here. You've stooped low since I last saw you"

I grin with the sheer craziness of the statement; "As low as you, you mean?" I ask mockingly.

"Yes, as low as me."

And with that he left, I watched mesmerised by the fabric of his robes swishing behind him. Slumping my head against the cold wooden table I think little more of what he said. Humbug, he shouldn't be alive.


	3. Chapter 3

I sit on an old raggy bed in the corner of a dingy room. I hold a small, torn off piece of parchment that has just flown through the window via a small tawny owl. I look at it with surprise. Owls seldom fly now. That was the old communication. Now there are darker forms, deeply rooted underground. The only clear message now is a frequent Dark Mark high above in the sky, hovering. A reminder to all of who rules. The parchment basically reads: _We need to talk. SS. _

Stupid message really, we talked last night. Or did we? The throbbing in my brain clouds all real memory. Anyway, I hate it when people feel they have to talk to me. What is there to talk about anymore? The last time I had to talk to someone it was Harry. I said: _I am pregnant therefore I am leaving the Order. Goodbye. _

Oh, but of course, I do still have to talk to Harry. He must still be sleeping next door. Twelve hours he has had now. Barely enough considering the amount he must have forced himself awake. Nevertheless I would rather talk to him now than later.

I pound on the door. No reply.

"Alohomora", I chant uncomfortably.

I haven't used magic openly for a very long time. Magic is defined now as Good or Bad, making a brew using heating enhancement is viewed as personal gain and therefore Dark Magic nowadays. That is what the new teachers tell the students. Anyway, I slowly open the door to see Harry still slumped on his bed but perfectly awake.

"What do you want?" he moaned.

Great, he still hasn't recovered from his bad mood. I take a deep breath and close the door, sitting myself on the edge of the bed.

"I've got a letter for you," I say, getting out a piece of A4 paper. This letter was the only reason I felt inspired to come and find Harry. It came in the post a fortnight ago, going back to Muggle systems is the best way forward, I believe.

"Who's it from?" Harry asks, he doesn't take the letter off me, nor does he even look at it.

"Fred" I reply.

"Fred hates me," he says coarsely. I bite my tongue as I realise just how much he blames himself for everything.

"Nobody hates you Harry. Well, nobody from our side. Please read this letter. It gives us the location of the remaining segments of the Order, people are congregating together. Even old members that were thought long gone."

"Like you, you mean" he bites back.

My head involuntarily drops down, yes like me. I am one of those lost sheep.

"I haven't asked you by the way," he interrupts, "Was it a girl or boy?"

I lift my head up again slightly, he speaks with such loathe about my first born child.

"A boy," I chirp, "I named him George because, well, in memory. He is nearly ten now. And I have a little girl who's eight. I named her Harriet, but I call her Harry as a pet name sometimes"

I feel such guilt now, in my own kid's names!

Harry doesn't look bothered what so ever. He carries on staring at the blank wall infront of him.

"Here, have the letter. Tell me what you want me to do once you have read it." I say, sticking the thing underneath his nose. He looks at it now, unfolds it but folds it back up again before reading it.

"This is not worth it. Whatever they have to say I do not care. Nothing can stop Voldemort now, his powers were too strong for me last year and now he'll be even stronger."

I shudder, as usual, stupid I know. He's right too. Too many heroic wizards have died trying to defeat him, or aid Harry in defeating him – all because of that stupid prophecy.

"Kill or be killed. Remember that Harry? Both you and He are still alive. Both of you are breathing. Therefore a prophecy has not yet been fulfilled, it can sway either way."

He exhales in defeat, "Sometimes I wish Voldemort had fulfilled it years ago. The agony we have all been through is just unbearable. I swear he wants all the damage done while I am alive, making me feel more and more helpless as I watch more and more of my followers die."

"Then don't let him win!" I yell, "If he's just keeping you alive to watch you suffer then there is still some hope that the prophecy will be fulfilled in your favour."

He laughs at me. He is laughing at me now. The stupid defeated, scruffy man is laughing at me. He is behaving like a coward. This is wasting my time.

"Just go, Hermione. Go back to your Muggle husband and your Mudblood kids."

Furious I get up to leave. My wand is drawn in an urge to hex him, but that's no good he will only get the satisfaction. I sit back down again, frustrated. The old Harry would never have used such vulgar terms to describe me. The old Harry had no part in him that was prejudice or racist. Filthy man he has grown into. I get up, only this time I do leave.

The tawny owl perches at the foot of my bed. She hoots softly to make me aware of her presence. I look at her; she has been ordered to stay here until I return the message. Snape is obviously desperate to see me. I grab the pathetic piece of parchment and turn it over to the blank side. I grab a dried up quill from the table in the corner and use the remaining droplets to scribble the message: _Shrieking Shack, seven thirty._

That'll have to do. Gives me time to think up some type of plan.

The Shrieking Shack still scares me. I know it was only viewed as haunted once because of Remus Lupin using it when he changed state to a werewolf. Now, however, the place could be used for anything by anybody. Why did I pick here? Why not some nice Tapas bar in the middle of London that my husband takes me to. A place, which Snape could not find, but it wouldn't be my fault for not getting back to him. Whatever he wants doesn't matter. I came here to save Harry, nothing else. His dark figure approaches me from the other direction of which I came. The night is so cold I can see his breath moving out of his mouth, under his cloak. He stops, takes down his hood to reveal his identity. I nod, my breath mixing in with his.

"Still not willing to tell me where Harry is?" he asks.

"No but you wouldn't be here to just ask me that," I reply.

"True. In fact, I have a proposition for you Miss Granger. You look to be ready for a challenge now that you have returned to the wizarding world, well I have one that may suit your interests."

I begin to wish I had set the location of this meeting somewhere in the middle of the Himalayas and insisted on no apparating. I did not want to meet him, now I just want to go.

"I came back for one challenge. I do not have time for any others." I start to walk away but he grabs me firmly by the arm so that I skid to a halt again.

"You're not taking me anywhere," I insist but as soon as I've spoken the words I feel an old familiar feeling. A feeling of being jerked away from the ground I'm standing on and then this feeling of being stuck in a void of nowhere. I now feel ground under my feet again, and a favourite room of mine comes into view. It's dark and I sense nobody about the house. I feel Snape's grip on me loosen and then hear him walk to the other side of the room.

"12 Grimmauld Place, honestly, you know this is the most obvious place for the Order to meet. I am not staying here and Harry is certainly not."

"So you know where Potter is then?"

Stupid git was always able to extract the truth sooner or later. I don't reply to the question.

"What are we doing here?"

"This is where the remaining members of the Order are returning to, whenever they have information they wish to reveal," he replied plainly.

"Anything worth revealing?" I ask.

"Quite frankly, no. The Dark Lord's layer is protected so that only Death Eaters know its location. Apart from the obvious killings and tortures that are reported anyway we have nothing to go on. At this moment The Order has no access to the Dark Lord's plans."

Good, I thought, let's keep it that way. All I want him to do is resurface for a second or two so that Harry can do a quick Avada Kedavracurse.

As if reading my thoughts Snape says: "You know we can't defeat him by direct confrontation. It requires cunning, the type of cunning only the purest of evil owns."

The way he speaks, cunning, pure and well, basically evil – they were the traits I so closely associated with the old house members of Slytherin.

"However," he goes on, "I have a way into the layer. I intend to return to my old role I used obtain for the Order."

"Spying." I replied.

"Only I cannot do it alone."

I feared something as such. Should I just "pop" out of here before I get dragged into something I don't want?

"It's a suicide mission of which I do not want to take part in. Sorry, like I said before I only want to go about this in my own way."

"I do not blame you. Although, it would be extremely selfish to pass up this chance," he hisses. I understand what he's trying to do; he's now playing on my guilt. But I came back to fix things, I came to conquer that guilt.

"You cannot fix things through the same old tactics you and Potter used in Hogwarts"

He said, I swear he is using Legilimency. This is making me even more on edge.

"Tell me then: Why should I trust a man who supposedly died ten years ago?"

I sit down on one of the remaining chairs, bony and dusty it is but a chair nonetheless.

"Only elite members of the Order knew I had taken a "Death Potion" that would technically kill me for forty eight hours. When I awoke I became a full Death Eater, no retuning to the Order with daily reports. I've been doing so ever since. I didn't flinch from what I was told to do even when the Order dissolved. Not till tonight anyway."

Somehow I feel dumbstruck and honour that he had broken a pact to talk to me whom he always viewed as a feeble member. However, I really do not believe it.

"Elite members you say. Who?"

"Dumbledore and Harry were the only ones who knew."

"Impossible. You died after Dumbledore…"

"It was his wishes that I did it, he said I should give up being a spy as soon as I felt my role was in jeopardy. Then I should remain in the Dark Lord's closest circle."

"And you still are, I presume"

I start to feel uncomfortable; he has me backed into a corner. A quick hex and he would have me prisoner. I am here, alone, with a Death Eater. I left my husband to end up in a situation like this.

"I am yes," he said and moves towards the light. He pulls up the sleeve of his robe to reveal the Dark Mark symbol firmly pierced onto his skin. I shudder. If I could just quickly apparate, could he trace where I go? Somewhere protected, like an all-Muggle residence. No, exposure risk. Damn it – where? Hogwarts…

"If you leave, you will have only heard the bad part of what I want to tell you."

"It's the only part I need to know. I don't see any flip side of what you have to say, nothing that could be good. No silver lining in that cloud," I say as I slowly edge towards the door. A quick dash into the street could maybe startle him into not using magic on me.

"Like I said earlier I have a proposition for you," he says with his voice softer than before.

"Like I said earlier I am not interested," my voice as ever stubborn.

"I have got ten years worth of information at your disposal Miss Granger. You can use it, and anything else we receive in the meantime, to calculate this wonderful plan you need for Potter."

"We receive? No, I am not doing anything with you!"

"I can't do it alone. I have gained their trust but only at the price of sinking too deep. I need your assistance and only your assistance will do. I need that intelligence you possess that I used to loathe, that and your female charm should infatuate them enough to…"

"What are you trying to suggest? That I act like a tart, to do what exactly? Seduce them into giving me information. Forget it."

"You wouldn't be flouncing yourself about at all. They do not tolerate such conduct," I now hear his voice softening as if showing a hint of care.

He says: "You will not like what I am going to suggest."

I look at him, I do not like anything he suggests. But a suggestion that I would like is a suggestion that is likely to fail. He says he can't do it alone. Well, without Harry's support neither can I.

I sigh, "Whatever you suggest isn't really a suggestion is it? You know I have to do what you tell me to do. We are the only active members and we can't defeat You-Know-Who individually and alone."


	4. Chapter 4

  
Another shriek of pain fills my body as every limb electrifies and my nerves squeal. I rocket back and forth for roughly thirty seconds before I master the art of breathing and my heart beat returns to normal. It's over for another ten minutes-ish. It was about eight hours ago when Malfoy inflicted the Unforgivable Curse on me but I am still having the spasms that follow. Night is closing in outside but daytime didn't come to Azkaban anyway. I lie on the flat mattress of the bed with my head resting against a pillow that has lumps and vile owl feathers poking out. I am alone and I daren't go through the fireplace to Grimmauld Place, I don't want Harry to see me in this state. The mattress is stained with my sweat and some droplets of blood that came from my nose, which is scabbed over now. My mind won't stop racing with evil thoughts of how close I was to being raped and then the punishment I had to endure because Malfoy had been deprived of that. The Cruciatus curse when described may sound like a wizarding form of a Muggle beating but it's far worse. I studied it in Hogwarts and, according to this book I read, if I had been subjected to it for two minutes longer my cells would have exploded. I feel like I have reached the pinnacle point where I can no longer endure anymore of the pain so I lie on the bed with the blanket gently covering me. I daren't touch any part of my body in case it sends my nerves into chaos. I don't want to be touched by anyone else ever again.

My ears curse and ring at a high frequency due to the disturbance they receive. The disturbance being the door to my room being swung open and then slammed again. Slowly I turn my strained neck, which is swelled up to twice its size. Snape remains the other side of the room, fixing a drink, gulping it then filling it up again. He takes another tumbler down from the cabinet and fills that up also. Slowly he walks over to me.

"Here, have this. I have used it many times after attacks," he passes me the liquid; it smells of a typically brewed healing potion.

"Thank you," I say, like a grateful child. I still haven't decided whether I trust him or simply despise him. My emotions towards him are fraught after today.

"I will also brew you a sleeping draught, no doubt you need it tonight," he says and then sits down on the edge of the bed. The mattress slopes down from the pressure and I feel myself naturally tilting towards him. "Please understand why I had to let Lucius curse you. It is compulsory for Death Eater's to receive their dose of Unforgivable curses if they disobey the Dark Lord in any possible form. I have endured it many times and it is something I have hardened my heart to. I wasn't going to allow Lucius to take advantage of you though. However, I'm afraid I did so at a price."

"A price? What do you mean?" I say, my voice very coarse and faint.

"What Lucius wants he very often gets. He will be keeping a closer eye on us, getting the house elves to report back to him about our conversations, the potions we have stored and any books or letters lying about," he lowers his tone, "I trust you know not to leave things around here that may reveal anything."

He trusts me? This is the first time he's given me any credit as an adult. I lie down deeper in my pillow and don't even attempt to stop myself from yawning.

"You need sleep, I will begin on that draught," Snape says, lifting himself up and ready to leave me.

"Don't just yet," I say, not understanding why I need his company but I guess even his is better than none, "I've been laid here, just thinking and thinking all afternoon." I can already feel the potion taking effect. A sensation in my bones is telling me that they are strengthening and my muscles relax to their normal movable state. He is a genius, to make the pain go away so easily, I wonder whether this sleeping draught will do the same for my emotional scars.

He reaches out and strokes my hair and forehead and unbelievably I see a small but warm smile appear on his face: "You are the bravest woman I have ever met. I see that being in Gryffindor with those dunderheads did you some good." I look with disbelief but then dismiss the grateful feeling that I am experiencing. Everybody is telling me that I am brave but who's to say it is a virtue?

"What's wrong?" he asks, he notices how distant I am.

I look at him and find this the perfect opportunity to pry into his past ten years, I need to know exactly what kind of man I am trusting: "Tell me about being a Death Eater, what have you had to do?"

He sighs, and makes himself more comfortable on the bed beside me, he has bags hanging down under his eyes and his lined face looks ready for sleep, yet he still opens his mouth ready to explain: "What do you want me to say? Many months are taken up patrolling prison wards, training in the dark arts and brewing endless potions for the Dark Lord. I am the most skilful at potion brewing and so am responsible for all the important ones. Some take me months to perfect, the Dark Lord will just demand: 'Make me a potion that does this!' it doesn't matter whether it is an impossible task. I get others, less important servants, to collect the ingredients for me and often blame it on them when I have purposely mess it up."

I look at him surprised; I would never imagine my old Professor purposely cocking up a potion, not after all the pleasure he used to gain when any of us did. I realise though why he has to do it.

"Did you ever correctly brew a lethal potion?" I ask then drop my eyes down and lower my voice to a whisper, "A potion that could kill?" He draws in breath and looks down at me like how he used to when I was a student. A look of annoyance towards my naivety and ignorance.

"Yes Hermione, I have. If I hadn't then somebody else would have done, but I know that is no excuse in your eyes. For every man I've killed though, I can confidently say there are twenty I have saved. I once put wolf blood instead of lion blood in a potion that made it malfunction; if it had worked an entire Muggle village would have been liquidated. I used to regularly inform the Order of the upcoming attacks also, which until it was dissolved saved many lives."

"How have you managed to do it all right under the Dark Lord's nose?" I question.

"I kept shifting the blame onto others. I always managed to find someone else to blame, it was easy, and the Dark Lord doesn't mind just as long as someone is punished and he can sit and watch another person die. Watching someone be tortured to death is sheer heaven to him."

I quirk my head up: "You mean he comes and observes every torture and execution?" Suddenly the electricity of the Cruciatus curse fills me again and I hurl back down in spasms. Snape holds onto me firmly and rocks me back and forth.

"Okay, your okay," he says, nursing me in his arms, "And yes, that's the only time I see the Dark Lord nowadays, at a public execution. Gladly they're not so frequent anymore, resistance towards him as you know is very discreet. If he gets fed up of waiting he will just order someone to fetch him a Muggle, often a young female, and well you can imagine the rest."

"Yes I can." I shudder at the thought of that being the only possible way of meeting him.

"Don't even think about it, I will not allow you even if you tried," Snape warns, his voice low and thunderous. He pushes my head deeper into his chest and wraps his arms around me. I struggle a little but he is not allowing me an inch of room.

"Who's to say you won't allow it. If it is our only chance of defeating him then I am prepared to do it. Are Death Eaters obliged to attend executions?"

"I'm not answering that, I am not going to feed your plan anymore."

"Why not? Does it really matter to you whether I live or die? I can't see my life as a huge price to pay for what could be the whole of Britain," I say with frustration because he must still see my cause as futile.

"It matters Hermione, for Christ's damned sake it matters!" I give him a puzzling look that forces him to explain: "You're the only woman I've been allowed contact with for the past decade. Have you any slight idea how much I want to protect you? How great it feels just to be around someone?"

I heave away from him, suddenly feeling myself grow too deep into this man who isn't my husband.

"That sounded perverted, didn't it?" he asks, letting go of me thoroughly so that I can run away if I want. I just shake my head and lie back down again, my body is still aching and I know I have nowhere to go even if I want to leave.

"I don't think your sick, I think your human. You just want to reach out to someone and I'm the nearest person," I explain.

"I would rather Harry die than you" he urges, hovering over me with a look of admiration.

"But the prophecy must be fulfilled, we can't just ignore it. He has to be in the center of every plan we have. What if I just bring him in and let the Death Eaters arrest him, then gather up the rest of the Order as resistance?" I urgently suggest, forgetting about the pain in my bones and concentrating more on what needs to be done.

"No, that would be absurd. Every Death Eater would be present if Harry had a public execution, the Order would be greatly out numbered."

"Then how about we change places? We could use a Polyjuice Potion and I could turn into be Harry and…"

"And be executed? No, that isn't an option. Although, getting Harry in by disguise is a good idea," he ponders and then silence falls as I watch him concentrate. My heart is thumping as my mind races through all the possibilities that magic could bring. The Polyjuice Potion idea is a good one, something I thought of in an instant that makes perfect sense. Of course, Harry could transform into me, or anyone else that the Dark Lord wants to capture. My adrenaline rises as I picture the image; Harry is there infront of him, posing as someone else. They'd torture him, because the Dark Lord enjoys that, and I will be there posing as one of his attackers when really I'm making sure Harry can…

Suddenly my body cries out again and I am subject to another brutal attack brought by the tormenting curse of earlier. This one is rougher; it is fuelling on my newly found energies. Each bit of excitement that a second ago was in my body now throbs with agitation. I feel the desire within my body's cells, the desire to break free and out of my body. I swerve out uncontrollably and my head hits the stone floor with a bang. A dull ache follows as I enter a subconscious state.

"Hermione can you hear me?" I hear, what feels like an eternity later. I open my eyes to see swirling waters and murky colours. I wipe my eyes and the image becomes Snape. I sigh, what just happened?

"You knocked yourself out, you silly girl, shouldn't have been over excited about your latest scheme." I feel him lift my legs up and under the blanket, and then plump the flat pillow, doubles them over so that I have twice the thickness and he has none.

"It's just another silly scheme to you, isn't it?" I yawn but look at him wide-eyed with alertness.

"No, but can we talk about it in the morning? This one may work. It takes a month to brew the potion that you speak of anyway, Hermione, and so it's not like we have to jump into a decision." 


	5. Chapter 5

Water is rushing all around me. I am on a boat somewhere north of the North Sea and it is getting colder and colder. The boat I am sat in is made of decaying wood and magically is staying afloat. If it had not had such curse performed upon it we would have sunk hours ago. I have never really suffered from Closter phobia but I understand now how it must feel. Beside me is Snape, swaying violently into me every two seconds due to the waves' rhythm. Just infront is a strange man, with slimy skin and horrible deformities, he is rowing. The rain pounds onto me but I no longer feel it, water is hitting water and I could technically get no wetter.

"Here - have this," Snape says reaching into his cloak and taking out a soggy sandwich. I look at it with a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"You must eat it, if not now, at some point. I need you to have strength for when we arrive because you will immediately be greeted by some old enemies and unpleasant sights."

This is the first thing I know about where I am going. I suspect I am going to the Dark Lord's layer. The direction we are sailing in indicates we are going to the old prison of Azkaban. I used to think the place was derelict.

"What should I expect?" I scream so that the waves do not drown my sound, I have to hold onto him and push my face against his ear.

"Don't be so naïve Miss Granger. The many times I used to report to the Order, and you were present, paints a picture of the nature of the place we are going to."

My spirits sink down again, throughout this encounter he has continued to be very tight lipped. I look at him, urging him to say something at all that would stop the dread I get of the unknown.

"What am I expected to do?" I ask.

He now moves closer, he pulls his cloak around my head so that the sound of the sea is blocked out and I am able to hear him. Huddled together he says: "I have told the Inner-circle that I have acquired a young bride. We are travelling this way because my associates are greeting us at the Main Entrance to the castle. You must behave as any other Death Eater's wife must behave. You will speak when you are spoken to but when you do it must always be in a toneless, emotionless manner. You will keep your ceremonial robes on at any other time but in our private quarters and you will accompany me whenever and wherever I say. Do you understand?"

I lump of dread whelms in my throat. I nod.

"I will not be leaving Azkaban once we arrive. However, I have installed a fireplace, which you will use to report back to the Order every night at an agreed time. You must listen sharply at every meeting and ritual and must obey everything that anyone from the Inner-circle tells you to do."

I nod again. But stop and shudder. I suddenly realise what he is asking me to become: a death eater; and a spy; and his _wife_. I haven't yet decided on a limit to my obedience. Should I kill someone if asked to? Hopefully they'll be sexist and view women as too fragile for that job.

I think you have to do good to be good and what I am being asked to do now is not good. You can't do evil acts but still be a good person. I can't kill individuals even if it will save an even greater number of lives. I know that the Death Eaters kill; the Daily Prophet reports rituals and public executions frequently. The newspaper editor is now appointed by The Dark Lord and is known as the Wizard of Propaganda. He manipulates the public into believing the killings are a type of cleansing. Cleanse the magic world of filthy blood, the headline says. It then goes on to explain that the reason why Muggles still rule the world is because there are too many Mudbloods that remain loyal to them. Now, wizarding families are beginning to believe and even support this view. If only they had listened more in Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, they would know that a similar tragic act occurred in Europe approximately seventy years ago.

I've made my decision now. I have travelled halfway there with the decision so I might as well go the distance. I will sacrifice my marriage, my children and everything that I have built up since I left the Order. I feel like I have lost all my integrity in just a couple of days. I feel worthless, without any respect for myself. But this is what must be done. This is what Godric Gryffindor would call bravery.

The boat splinters up against the harsh rocks and I get out. The water is up to my ankles and I have to lift my robes up high so as to not get them wet. Snape is already on the shore; he has a look of great impatience on his stale face. He gestures me over and I stumble over the sharpness of the seabed until I reach him. A stairwell is cut into the rock; we climb up in silence. High above is Azkaban. It is how I imagined. The tallest tower must be a mile high. The stone is as black as the night we are in. I am not surprised to see Dementors circling slowly around the peak of the towers, occasionally swooshing low to embrace the coldness of the sea. One comes close to me, but it has no effect because my mind is drained of all good memories already. We reach a typical drawbridge. The entrance is like any Gothic castle you would see on a late-night horror film. Approaching is some guards. I can tell they recognise Snape because they immediately give him a nod and don't hesitate to lower the bridge. We cross it swiftly.

"The boss is waiting just outside the Main Entrance, sir." One says in an informal manner, he then turns and winks at me, "Well done mate, she's a beauty."

Snape swerves around and bores his eyes into the guard's. The man shakes; I see the top of his spear quivering slightly as he cannot hide his nerves. In an icy voice Snape says: "I think that is only for me to say. May I remind you of your status on this island," he moves even closer to the guard, so that his crooked nose is slightly touching his, "We entrust house elves with greater jobs than you."

"Sorry sir, it won't happen again. Please proceed."

The guard bows and within moments I forget about the encounter. I am going to see "the boss". I do not feel I am ready to come face to face with the Dark Lord yet. I want to rest first, sleep and eat. Maybe even clear my mind of some of the worry. I do not have time to do this, though.

At the entrance stands one lone man, he is masked and wears fine ceremonial robes. The robes are made of the most luxurious velvet, with a silver rim around the edges. There is one single motif that is embroidered onto the breast, the Dark Mark. When we approach Snape immediately takes down his hood and bows. He bows low, down to the ground. Any lower and I thought he might even kiss the masked man's feet. I reluctantly curtsey, although I try not to show my detest. After this, the boss takes off his mask and hood. I see slivering silver hair slide down the robes. I recognise this man suddenly and my blood boils. In some way I think I would have preferred meeting the Dark Lord. This man I hate for personal reasons. Luckily though, he does not recognise me, nor does he recognise that my face is beginning to heat up despite the freezing temperature.

"You must teach her how to curtsy, Severus. I doubt the Dark Lord will forgive such a half-hearted attempt," Lucius Malfoy says in a slick manner.

"It's late, can we discuss her initiation in the morning?" Snape asks.

Malfoy looks at me coldly; I can see in his eyes what he thinks of all wives. Subservient little creatures whose only function is to produce the son and heir of their pureblooded family line.

"She has a fire in her eyes, a great hatred of some type," he says and picks up a lock of my bushy hair, "lively one, am I correct?"

"Certainly but no doubt that will change in time, once she realises what this type of life is like," Snape replies.

Malfoy laughs aggressively and nods with great agreement. He looks directly at me, addressing me like a child: "Yes, you are so full of expectation. You think it's brilliant to marry a man with power. You think he'll protect you," he moves up and whispers in my ear, "But really we only want you for one thing."

Snape shows a slight hint of discomfort in the way Malfoy is treating me, but not enough to actually be concerned.

I look at Malfoy directly in the eye and then open my dry lips to speak: "Actually I am very much prepared for what is ahead and no doubt my husband and his leaders will be grateful for my assistance. Don't worry, I don't shriek at the sight of blood and my stomach doesn't churn at every hex thrown at me. I can fight and I have won many times. I think you will find that I have many more uses than the one you happen to be thinking about." I cannot help the malicious tone of my voice but it may have worked. He may think that I am rotten to the core, like him. He grins at me and chuckles softly.

He smacks me on the arse and says: "She's just what you needed Severus. She'll keep you on your toes, no doubt, and keep you busy. She is something to look forward to after a long day of gatherings and rituals. Is she any good in the bedroom department?"

"Sufficient," Snape says as he grabs me by the hand and begins to pull me towards the entrance. Malfoy follows to the great oak door; he unlocks it and turns around to us again.

"I will leave you to enjoy yourself. Tomorrow you are both expected to attend a meeting at ten."

He walks away and passes through a small side door. Snape opens the front door an inch and then pulls me back, stopping me from entering. I give him an anxious look; I am ready to sleep and not willing to communicate.

"Just to warn you Miss Granger," he says, but then hesitates to see my reaction. I sigh, he is just being patronising. But he holds onto my chin and forces me to look at him; his face is filled with concern now. I understand that what he is about to say is serious.

"Hermione, I am warning you that in this entrance there is a very unpleasant sight. I need you to keep an expressionless face, even if you feel like you need to vomit. If you show any sign of emotion they will know you are a spy."

With this he opens the door. I close my eyes, preparing myself for what I am about to see. When I open them again every cell in my body shrieks with pain. My heart begins to pump hatred rather than blood around my body. Snape moves me closer and closer but as I do a dull throbbing in my legs occurs. They tell me I should not approach something so demonic.

Infront of my eyes is many dissected body parts; arms, legs, torsos and heads. I recognise their owners. The distorted expression on the faces and the scars of the flesh does not hide their identities. The heads are raised up on stakes, like what old Muggle barbarians used to do to their slaughtered enemies. The other body parts are just glued to the wall. Flames smother them, scolding and blistering the flesh but not burning it. My eyes survey each face at a time, remembering when the face was smiling, the cheeks glowing with joy. I have happy memories for each of these people. I mourn their deaths each in turn, just by looking at them with my cold face. The ones I knew had died and the ones that I hoped had possibly survived. In the center was the most valuable and well-earned trophy of them all. Dumbledore's precious silver hair flowed straight down from the stake; the blood that smothers his face and severed neck does not even touch his hair. If it did the blood would dissolve like acid. His face though, remains wise and timeless. The look on his face is the same look as when I last saw him. The look of acceptance in his own fate. I try to blank out what I have just seen. I vision the faces that I did not see there; some who I thought were definitely dead were not hanging up at the entrance. That means there is still hope for them. There is still hope for us.


	6. Chapter 6

I turn the showerhead so that the water strikes me squarely in the face. The water is so cold that it turns to ice between the strands of my hair. I didn't have the option of a warm shower but I wouldn't have opted for it anyway. I need this shower to wake up the hatred in me, to freeze over my heart for what is to come. I turn around and let the water numb all the nerves in my back. My fingertips droop down like jelly, feeling heavier than normal in their numbness. My neck drops down also, and my bushy hair flops over my face. I look through the damp curtain of my hair to see the rough grey curtain that divides the bathtub from the rest of the room. It brings very little privacy but enough to keep me physically distant from the man asleep on the bed. This room, that is now my temporary home, is like a Muggle prison cell. Ironically, however, this is where the privileged sleep. The prisoners sleep down in the dungeons, moulded into the cliffs and when the tide is high they are half drowned in water.

My body shudders but I will it to keep steady. I do not want my body to be weak; it needs to have the focus and clarity that my mind inhabits. I hear a stir, Snape must have awoken. Perfect timing, with only an hour until my first meeting. I see his silhouette through the transparency of the curtain. He gets up without realising my absence. Last night I lay with my back turned to him, I hadn't slept. Each time I closed my eyes I saw the images of last night. My body had been twitching with the reality of where I am and the presence of the man slumped next to me. It will be the same waking nightmare tonight, I regret.

I switch off the shower, grab a towel and then dress instantly. My time of brooding was over the minute he awoke. I throw back the curtain, he startles, his mouth gaping open. I grab my wand and aim it at my hair; it dries rapidly and lags down like a useless accessory.

"Here," Snape passes me something. It is a brandy. So soon in the day, but I still drink it, without bothering to ponder over the possible effects.

"You'll need these as well," he says, and passes me my ceremonial gowns. I look at them; they're made of thick black cotton, long, and tailored for a male physique. They do not have the same luxury or look as official as Lucius Malfoy's. I am glad of that. These robes make me blend into the rock of the castle and cliffs it is perched upon. I take them and put them on without complaint. Snape nods an acknowledgment and then opens the door for me. I walk through it and hear it snap shut behind me.

"Can we take a diversion from the Main Entrance please, I don't think I can stomach it so early in the morning," I whisper to him.

His lips twitch and he frowns down at me; "You will be expected to walk past there frequently so I recommend you become accustomed."

Great, no sympathy as always. He is walking swiftly and I have a hard job keeping up. We turn a sharp corner and before I know it he has pinned me into an alcove.

"I am warning you, Granger, one slight mishap or even a squirm from you and my cover, that I have fought so vigorously to maintain, will be blown. Your initiation will be painful but it will not kill you, keep that thought in mind because at the moment death is your only alternative."

The air hits my lungs again with a thud and now I am truly alert to the nature of the ritual I am about to endure.

Aligned in an unbroken circle are the common Death Eaters, like what I am about to become. The inner-circle is made up of only a quarter the amount of followers as the outer, all wearing velvety enriched robes. Snape joins them in his allotted place. Everyone, including me, stands with their head down and hoods up. Typical, you could say, even I thought they'd have a more unique layout for the deadly followers. The Dark Lord is not present, nor would he be. He has reached a place of power and comfort so high that he does not need to worry about trivial rituals. This poses a problem: I will have to take many risks to raise his interest enough for him to want to meet me. The ritual begins and is carried out in a language I do not understand. The man that is chanting the incantations is not someone I recognise; the voice is dried up of all emotion. From what I can see of him through my closing hood, he is a death omen anticipating his own death.

Soon enough I am being called forward. Heads stir my way but I am not surprised, I must be a treat to them, I am a break from the monotonous chanting. I hear my name, or what they believe my name is, through the dead language. A wand is raised infront of me, it sparks. A bony hand appears and points at my forearm. I stretch it out infront of me and block my mind away from my senses. I want to close my eyes and consume myself in the darkness that is behind my eyelids. I dare not though, because it may be viewed as a sign of weakness. The darkness infront of me will have to suffice. I close my inner-eyes, block out everything. I am becoming a Death Eater but my soul is not present to experience it.

It is done and I awaken, looking down at my arm. The Dark Mark is clearly pierced into my skin, surrounding it is boils and escaping blood. It is probably hurting me but I am not willing to acknowledge that. I move backwards about five strides so that I am part of the Outer-circle again. Immediately after, the atmosphere changes and so does the language, back to English. Lucius Malfoy steps forward. To every Death Eater he assigns a task. I try to understand each individual, but he addresses the people personally and is not specific. He mentions some names but not many. I make a mental note of them all. I wonder if Snape will fill in the gaps of missing information. Doubtful, I know, but maybe he will.

Malfoy approaches me, sneers a little and then moves his face closer.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" he remarks.

"Not as much as my eyes do at the moment for having the displeasure of the sight of your face," I reply.

He doesn't take too kindly to this, but he tolerates it: "Severus will inform you on your first assignment and daily tasks. Nothing to strenuous, I don't think, but if you think I am under-working you please let me know."

"Oh I will, I didn't come here to slack off. I want a hand in all of this; and the rewards that begot of it afterwards." I stare him out.

"Foolish, young, pitiful child. You will learn given time," he threatens and then steps off to the person that stands next to me.

What he just said is correct. I know that I am being very foolhardy in my attitude to Malfoy, I know I am being foolish by coming here and I wouldn't be doing any of it if my situation wasn't _pitiful_, not that I want to be pitied. Pathetic is a better word to use.

We are adjourned and I resume my rightful place by the side of my husband, remaining silent until out of the reach of prying eyes and throbbing ears.

"So, what is my first job?" I ask, with a hint of anticipation. I am intrigued into what they may ask me to do.

"Our job for today is patrolling. We will patrol in pairs down the length of one of the prison wards and in roughly two hours we will serve the dirt they call food."

"I see," I say, but don't feel anything else appropriate to expand on that. Snape and I have withdrawn ourselves from communication, which is worrying. At least when this first began we were arguing, showing emotion, fear and doubt. Now, it's become a rule: speak when necessary.

The click of my high-heeled shoes is the only sound these tormented prisoners can hear. It is not a comforting one, a sharp definite sound as my foot brutally stabs against the cold rock below me. Two hours have passed and my limbs are beginning to ache, telling me to stop pacing repetitively. Snape paces beside me but he manages to do so silently, with stealth in his strides. He hasn't looked at me once. I am feeling nervous, as I am sure it is time for feeding. I haven't yet looked at the prisoners that are in their cages, just a foot away from me. I figure that if I see their faces I will be moved with compassion and start planning for their escape. That would be reckless of me; it would leave me in one of those cages myself. These two hours of silence leaves room for only one thing, thought. My thoughts so far have been tormented by the task ahead of me. How can I move from patrolling the prison to defeating the Dark Lord? It could take me years to rank highly enough to even meet him. I know that I can't just let Harry through the fireplace because we are heavily outnumbered on this island. I will have to wait for an opportunity to arise, if one ever does, and if when it does I have the nerve to go through with it. I will have, I assure myself. I have come so far, I have already thrown away most of my dignity to fulfil this task, I am willing to risk my life as well. It's risking Harry's that I am not willing to do. While Harry is still alive every good British wizard is still alive, alive in the hope of our wheel of fortune turning.

The sound of a rusty bolt creaking open disturbs my senses. My thoughts break and I have to force myself out of the continuous patrolling. I lift my head up, just slightly. A man gives me several plates of food. I balance them each in my arms. No instructions are necessary, I know what to do.

"Be careful," I hear behind me as I approach the first cage. I turn quickly and give Snape a troubling look. "Some bite like animals." He warns.

I half expect them to put up a fight as I slide the food through the letterbox slit. Some, however, do not even notice. Still mumbling to themselves about times gone by, lost in their world of what once was. I know that the people I am feeding are good people, brought here by the new Ministry. Imprisoned here are those that fought for the old ministry, the old ways of wise men like Dumbledore. About half way along the row I stop using my philosophy of detaching myself. I haven't yet looked at a prisoner but this one draws me to him. His voice is very familiar yet so distant at the same time. He is talking gibberish and no sentence fits with the next one. I slowly look up.

It is Ron. Over-grown, mangled, completely and utterly void of reason, but still Ron. His mind has gone, I can tell by how he is smiling to himself and speaking about the old Exploding Snap game, then quickly reverting to Garden Gnomes of the Burrow. It saddens me to know he remembers all these things but has no knowledge of his current situation. My eyes well up and for the first time I do cry. I can't stop myself and I know I am about to give the game away, but at this very moment I have to cry. Within seconds Snape is beside me, pulling at my robes to bring me back to my senses. Ron does not respond though.

"This is not the time, breathe deeply and keep your emotions inside of you." He says and then realises who is in the cage. He lowers his voice; "Just for another two hours. You're halfway there."

I now realise how weak I am; incapable of performing the simplest of tasks. What will I be like if I am asked to kill one of these people? I banish the thought.

I carry on my patrol, just like I did before. Only this time my thoughts are more focused. I can get Ron out of here, I am sure. As a Death Eater the wards allow me to enter Ron's cell. That trust is bestowed on me by the Inner-circle and I will delightfully abuse it. There are no guards within the close area. Better still, Snape and me are the guards. I check one more time to see if anyone is around. Just Snape. I stop at Ron's cage, staring in. He is still muttering to himself, endlessly. I decide on which charm to use, whether it will work is another thing, but I need to attempt. If I don't attempt then I am acting like a real Death Eater. I need to rescue my friend and prove to myself that I am a good person. I rip off the hem of my robe; it tears with a sharp sound that makes me shiver. Snape looks up, puzzled as to why I'm doing this. He carries on pacing, though. I hold my scrap piece of robe in one hand and my wand in the other. I recollect the Portus spell. I had learnt the various steps to creating a Portkey in Advanced Charms of my seventh year. I must remember it now, correctly.

Suddenly Snape notices what I am doing, he sweeps over to me in one movement: "Have you gone completely mad?" he asks me in a low but thunderous tone. I look at him; he's using the same scare tactics as he did when I was his student. They are not going to work. I complete the charm and lift it through the slit in the cage. Ron does not notice it, and I do not know if I dare interrupt him from his loudly spoken thoughts. He is now speaking of a time when Fred and George set his broomstick alight. He huddles together in the fear of the flames, feeling them flicker over him at this present moment.

"Wingardium Leviosa" I say, lifting my wand up and watching as the small piece of material hovers. I debate whether or not to just throw it at him, thus sending him straight to Grimmauld Place. I've mapped the Portkey so he lands in Sirius' old room. Harry should be in the house, if he has obeyed me. Poor Ron, the shock of the change could render him into a fit. Or will he even notice the change? He is in a different world altogether, his bodies location may not matter anymore, his mind is disconnected. I turn around to Snape; he deserves some explanation for my reckless behaviour.

"I am sorry," I say, but realise that it isn't an explanation. "The time has come when we need to do something rather than just watch and plot futile plans."

I do not bother turning and looking at him, no doubt his face will be in that infamous sneer of an expression. I lift my wand and firmly shout "Waddiwasi". The piece of torn-off robe flies straight into the unaware Ronald Weasley, and with a pop he disappears, hopefully to Grimmauld Place.


	7. Chapter 7

"Death Eater," he yells, "Death Eater, Death Eater, Death Eater".

"I am not a Death Eater, Ron. Please come to your senses" I shout firmly.

"It won't do any good, he's obviously too far gone," Harry says dismissively, his head arches back against a pillow and his arms are firmly crossed.

I am now in one of the bedrooms of Grimmauld Place, stood close to the fire in case I have to make a swift journey back to Azkaban. The past few hours have been a blur: I finished patrol, walked without communication to our private quarters and hopped into the fireplace. I will deal with consequences later.

"I see evil in you, dark, penetrating evil. You are supporting him aren't you? Don't deny it to me; I have seen enough wickedness to know when I see it infront of my very eyes. You are in alliance to the Dark Lord! Why, you ugly disgusting evil hidden in a beautiful body. I can see inside of you!" He plunges out and tries to grasp me. Harry pulls him back immediately but he kicks and squeals like a moody child. He spoons the fresh air, scooping it away from him in order to get closer to me. Harry tries desperately to keep him stable but loses grip eventually. Ron rolls over onto the floor and hugs himself pitifully. He sobs silently.

I take another step back, uncomfortably. I pull my cloak around me even tighter and hide my face behind my hair. I rescued him and yet he still doesn't recognise me for what I really am. Maybe I am evil. He is more educated on the matter than me. I am an academic and use my mind. He uses his soul to figure out people, and he sees my soul as dark.

"Ron look at me," I say and grab his chin so his face is fixed infront of mine, my voice then softens "it's Hermione."

I feel the tears well in my eyes as Ron looks at me with even greater detest. His face is so pale and his expression so vacant, but his eyes are welling with the hatred that my abandonment brought. He blames me, as only a passionate but unwise person could. Ron always viewed loyalty as more important than safety. When I announced I was leaving I might as well had been leaving to join the Dark Lord, in Ron's view. For Ron abandoning a friend in need is the worst crime you could commit. And I committed it. He was sent to Azkaban a few months later.

I look away again, let go of his chin and my feet heavily thud over to the fireplace.

"Don't leave, Hermione, not yet," Harry asks. This is the first time I have felt his need for me. The first time he wants me to be with him. I look at him and then Ron, who is scowling like a dog on the floor. The Trio is reunited. One is without his mind, one is without his identity and one is without her morals. I would much rather this reuniting had not taken place. We are obviously not the same people as before.

Suddenly, Ron begins to fidget. He swings his head violently from one shoulder to the other, straining his neck. His arms heave all over the place, punching, pushing and seizing thin air. At full speed he hurdles into the closet door. The door is locked but the fragile wood falls helplessly beneath him. He tumbles and then somersaults into the moth-eaten clothes. Dust bursts out in a praise of freedom, after many years of entrapment.

The closet is dark, I raise my wand; "Lumos." The wand sparkles with orange flames.

"Fire," Ron screams, creating a high-pitched unnerving sound. "Get that flame away from me. Leave me and take away the fire of hell that consumes you. I knew you were doing the Devil's work. Harry, why can't you see it? I have to get away from her, she's trying to suck out my soul and give it to the Dementers. They won't have my soul, not now. Not now they've taken away every happy memory. I won't let her take my soul. Harry look - she has fire to burn out my soul."

I immediately extinguish the light of my wand, wondering what I could do to convince him that I am not some daughter of Satan. I heave out a great gush of breath and rack my brain for a possible explanation that would appeal to him.

"Listen Ron, fire was once believed to be one of four elements that made up the whole world. It was used in the early days of Medical Magic to balance ones humours and therefore purge them of their suffering," I say, sounding like the Textbook Hermione everyone used to loathe.

Ron's eyes bulge and his face pulses red with pain, "You are not purging me anymore. I will not let you take away another ounce of happiness from me."

He is all dried up of happiness; all he possesses now is sorrow. That is why he is mad. It isn't because he doesn't know his current situation, which is what I thought caused his madness earlier. Now I know he is aware of everything around him but every bit of it has driven him crazy.

I look at him, his teeth are not gritted and his body stands rigid. I need something else to explain. I ponder.

"You said I used fire because I am evil, Ron, didn't you?" I ask and he nods in agreement. "Well then if so, does that make the Holy Spirit evil? Because the spirit came down to the disciples in the form of Fire and Wind on Pentecost. The Holy Spirit was used to inspire the disciples with their Calling. That is what I came back to do to you Ron, and you too Harry. I came here to guide you both in defeating the Dark Lord. That is why I rescued you Ron and why I came to find you Harry."

There is a long pause; I wonder whether Ron is digesting this. I look at Harry, through the mangled beard and filthy robes I see his understanding.

"Thank you," Harry finally says, "I am proud of you."

He means it; he wouldn't have said it otherwise. I smile, only slightly. Just to let him know that I am proud of him too.

"I will leave you to settle him down for a while. I'll be downstairs if you need me," I say and then I descend the stairs. I should really go back to Azkaban but I am too unsettled.

Five Fire Whiskey's later the door opens. It is Harry. He gives me a frown and swiftly snatches the bottle away. In one swift movement he fills his goblet, swags the drink down and fills it back up again. I look at him surprised, but I do not blame him. I motion for him to fill mine up, he does so slowly and reluctantly. As I reach out to grab the goblet the sleeve of my robe falls back and the Dark Mark looks up, sneering at the both of us. I only now acknowledge the dull ache it is bringing to me. My skin has turned purple around the bloody red outline. This mark is pierced into my skin for the duration of my days and I wonder if the evil it represents will permeate through me also.

"I don't think I could have done what you did," Harry says.

I look at him, trying to work out what he means by this. Harry is a careful man who I have never known make a wrong decision. He is telling me I have made a wrong decision. My face blanches and I feel ashamed.

"What I am saying Hermione is, well to be frank, I wouldn't have had the balls to do what you did. Everything you have done so far has been the true form of courage, something Dumbledore would be proud of. Thank you; what you are doing may just work."

I smile slightly and shuffle in my seat: "Let's not be optimistic, it was that attitude that caused our failure. I will stop at nothing to help you, Harry. I don't know how I am going to explain Ron's disappearance but I will die before admitting his and your location."

"That's crazy, you are worth more than me, or Ron, or any of the other wimps that have buried their heads in the sand since Voldemort took over," Harry says with great determination. I shudder though, a few weeks ago I was one of those wimps.

"You are the one he needs to be saved Harry. A few sacrifices here and there by me does not replace the years of ducking and diving you've had to do. The amount of times you have saved lives and the amount of times you've nearly lost your own."

Harry waves his hand in dismay, gurgling down another Fire Whiskey; "I am meant to do that Hermione, it's part of my job description as "The Boy Who Lived". You however, came here by choice. You've left a lot of comforts behind whereas I had nothing to begin with."

I smile at him passively, I notice that this debate is not going to be settled so I am drawing a close to it. I clear my throat, ready to discuss my next step in this farce.

"If the Inner-Circle accept my absurd excuse, and if Snape supports it, I need a new objective. I figured that I can't just Floo you into Azkaban so you can perform a Killing curse or two. I need a way to get you to the Dark Lord unrecognised, the only problem is he is under high security and no mere Death Eater is allowed to pop in for a chat. It's a bit like demand only and I don't know to what extreme I have to go to get him to want to see me." I say, not that I am not willing to go to that extreme.

"What extreme are you willing to go to, Hermione?" Harry asks. He is another wizard who is skilful at reading my mind.

"Any" I simply say.

"Care to elaborate?" Harry replies, with a cold stare he adopts from another wizard who asks me uncomfortable questions.

"No," I reply sternly. A tense pause follows. I pick at the ends of my fingernails, flexing and relaxing my toes to ease the nerves in my body. "I should go now, no doubt Snape will have been interrogated about the escape already, and if he is telling the truth he took a huge risk in trusting me. I violated that trust so it's only fair that I take the punishment." I hadn't before thought of the forms of punishment the Death Eaters could inflict on me, but no doubt they will. I guess it's just another thing I have to deal with but until I do I will not think of it.

"Punishment?" Harry stutters.

"Yes, punishment. I'm not just talking a slap on the arse either," I reply, just as cold as before. Harry looks distressed, I can feel him praying that they won't use Crucio or abuse me in any physical or sexual way. But like I said it won't be a child-like punishment now, will it? "I don't mind Harry. I think Ron's freedom is more important than my comfort. You should too."

With that thought for him to dwell on I get up and leave. I move up to him and with my dry lips I give him a light kiss on his forehead. He gives me a smile that covers a myriad of fears. I ruffle up his hair and return him one that shows that I am strong enough to do this. I leave him and enter the bedroom that Ron is asleep in. He is sleep talking about Grindylows, recollecting the day Lupin set them free in class for the students to deal with. A fun lesson, that was, and I am glad he has chosen that memory to be with him tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

"I assure you Lucius that it was just a lack of ability…"

"I am perfectly capable of feeding the animals, of course, but I just wasn't prepared for…"

"And I promise she will follow my orders more strictly in future and not let such a drastic mistake occur. I should have…"

"You see he jumped out so quickly and before I could even raise my wand the little imp was…"

"She pretends to be good at these things when quite frankly she is useless. If I hadn't been the other side of the corridor I would have prevented…"

"I ran after him but he seemed to discover this great amount of energy. I guess it's like an elastic band, the more you stretch him to madness the crazier he's going to be when he is set free to fly…"

"He wasn't set free at all, he must have judged that my wife was inexperienced and that I was not close to the area…"

"I didn't know that there were slits to put the grub in. I thought you had to actually unward the door and open it. That's how he escaped, sir," my mind carries on racing through the myriad of excuses I could give. They all flow out of my mouth randomly in a boggling stumble, at rapid speed.

"Could you both please hold your annoying tongues? I find it rather _sweet_ that you have devised these excuses and supported each other so desperately. However, I am not a man who cares and not one to hold an ounce of sympathy. Severus, you are fully aware of the seriousness of the mistake your wife has committed and the uproar it will cause if the news is revealed to the wizarding world," he turns and looks at me, "Now you, step forward!"

I shuffle forward reluctantly, shifting my eyes around the room. It is like the oasis in a desert, dressed in rich fabrics and ebony furniture. It looks like the Lord of the mansion's study, which only the privileged men could access and very seldom women. I must be lucky, or not, to be allowed in. The walls cannot be seen for the bookshelves, which contain polished and bound books, all unlabeled and highly likely containing war strategies and dark material. The floor I am stood on is jet-black slate, which makes my shoes scrape cringingly as I shuffle. Infront of me is Lucius, who is sat in a large armchair made of panther fir; it rocks smoothly like a pendulum to his beat. The arms of the chair finish with the beast's claws, clutching onto the ebony wood like Lucius Malfoy is clutching onto me, his prey. A barrier is between us; a small desk with a few rolls of parchment and a quill; this can easily be swung away so that the chase can begin. There are no windows in this room. No escape for me, my friend won't come and save me as I did him.

"Look at me when I speak to you, child," Malfoy snaps, reminding me of a strict Headmaster that Dumbledore was not.

"Like I said earlier, there are more pleasant sights," I say as I jolt my head around to look at him squarely.

"Still as cocky as ever, not for long though, I am afraid. You see, you made a promise to me that you would impress your husband and myself, as his leader, and Our Master. You have broken that promise within one day of your duties whilst fulfilling the simplest of tasks. Already, I view you as worthless to this organisation. Can I even be bothered to let you patrol anymore? Are you now just a liability?" he turns to Snape, "What do you think of your wife's performance so far?"

"Disgraceful, sir, but I didn't marry her because she was perfect, I married her because it was cheaper than using prostitutes."

"Did you hear that?" he sniggered, the look on his face victorious. "You are slightly more than worthless but I think that you would much rather be no good at all."

I didn't care, that's just what he thinks, and if Snape is telling the truth then what Malfoy thinks is far from the truth. Truthfully, I am worth a lot. I have just set free one prisoner and I will find ways to release more. Whilst I am doing that, I will also re-establish the Order of the Phoenix that will bring forward both him and _Our _Master's demise. This thought keeps me sane, and I remember it so that I do not panic when they talk about me as just a sex object. It is good that he thinks that is all I am. I will let him keep believing that, make him believe I have no real brain cells, and then he really will not see my plan in action.

I look at him, he is waiting for me to squirm and beg forgiveness: "I know that is what you think of me. It is what all men have ever thought of me."

This is a lie, of course. I grew up in a world of equality where I was respected as much as my two male friends were. I married a man who let me work, even when I was pregnant. He took paternity leave so that I could pursue a promotion. But I'll let Lucius Malfoy think the opposite; he cannot know anything about my personal background that could link me to Hermione Granger.

"Really? Such a whore, you're not even ashamed of it. You still haven't told me what happened to the prisoner once he escaped."

I clear my throat and think quickly: "I told you that he ran too quickly for me to catch him. Well he somehow managed to reach that stairwell that is cut into the edge of the cliff face. He climbed up there with more energy than me. He reached the top of the cliff." I pause for breath – where else can I take this made up story?

"And…" Lucius says impatiently, "I presume he is not still there."

And… He disapperated? No, I could be in greater trouble because then there would be a free prisoner, roaming around, and searches would be conducted.

"He jumped, sir. He was crazy, had no indication of where he was and what he was doing. He had the impression that if he leaped off the cliff then angels would come and save him. He should have known we only have Dementors here," he looks at me with an even less satisfied look, "The fall alone would have killed him, and if not the rocks below tore his body within an instant of collision. I watched the blood slither down the sharp claws of the rocks and into the grateful mouths of the sharks. It was a satisfying end, if you ask me. He was no longer an asset to us, I can\assure you, his mind was completely gone and he was drained of all information. At least he did some good in his final moments of life, he made a very tasty meal for our blood thirsty allies."

"We only execute under The Master's command," bellows Malfoy.

"Would you rather he escaped?" I throw back.

Infuriated Malfoy rises from his seat and approaches me, his teeth are gritted and a small ball of foam bubbles in the corner of his mouth. With only a couple of swift strides he is towering over me, breathing the air from his nostrils into my mouth, which is still gaping open in need of more words. I weakly cough and then take a tiny stride back. He grabs my forearm and thrusts me forward to him, his nostrils flaring and the tip of his tongue caressing the stubble above his upper lip. He takes a cluster of my brown curls and holds them infront of his face, admiring them. He pulls them tightly so that the top of my scalp is screaming for them back. I force myself forward so that the pain would ease. He is so close now; I can see each blemish on his pale skin and the greyness of his eyes. Behind me another cough is heard that reminds me that there is a third person in the room.

Malfoy appears to have forgotten Snape also, his head twitched quickly and his expression moves from cunning to surprise within an instant. I turn my head to see Snape's usual malcontent face: his brow tense so that every aging line is visible; his nose launching out infront making it the first and last feature everyone sees. The black pupils of his eyes are so large but so concentrated on the event infront of him and his strange black hair wafts around everywhere, defiant of his intentions and turning an icy grey at the tips. I realise for the first time that he has aged, although not as much as I had thought he would. I try to ask him for support, giving him dolly big eyes and a meek expression, I don't feel pride in wanting him to help me, but neither do I want to carry on this encounter with Malfoy.

"May I be the one to decide on her punishment, Lucius? She is mine afterall," he says after a long moment of contemplation.

"No Severus, with such matters it is my given responsibility to issue out the punishments," he says and then moves even closer to me, "and, boy, am I going to enjoy this one."

My heart drills with more dread and guilt and sickness and reluctance than it ever has before. He lifts his hand to my lips and with his thumb presses down firmly. I want to bite him, bite the bony and wrinkling thumb off and watch him pick it up from the floor, where I have spat it out. Why can't I do that? I would have done ten minutes ago. My heart carries on pounding, with each touch, to my hip, to my hair, to my face and to my chest. My heart pounds deeper and deeper.

I close my eyes and imagine my children. What will they be doing now? It is midday, around lunchtime so they'll be opening up their packed lunches and complaining that Daddy made egg sandwiches rather than ham (Harriet hates egg); and they'll be sulking because he never allows them to have chocolate in school. Or maybe lunch has just finished and they're starting some new class. George is about to start algebra, or maybe he already has, he's good at maths and I bought a book for him ready for when he starts the project. I hope my husband remembered to give it him. Harriet loves art though, she paints a picture for everything beautiful she sees and can mix up colours from either end of the spectrum, and she then applies them to every picture. I think of all the colours that would be lost if I ask her to paint a picture of Azkaban.

Once again I am reminded of where I am. The man that has now got a firm grip on me and is surveying my body, urgent to begin the punishment but not quite knowing where. He is like a boy in a sweet shop, not wanting to choose one thing in fear that he may lose out on another. Then he moves his mouth to my neck and I feel my skin turn to stone by the slathering liquid that he leaves behind with every grope. He begins to bite me, and groans slightly when he cuts my flesh and tastes blood. Once he has satisfyingly bitten the circumference of my neck he looks up to me, smiles, and pulls the robe off my shoulders. I have no doubt what his intentions are.

Quickly, in a last bid for help, I look over to Snape. He stands like an obedient dog, waiting for his owner to give him the freedom of his wife again, as if I were his favourite bone. Too long, I anger at him, too long has he buried his head in the sand. Too long has he been a follower, followed orders from whoever is giving them out. Too long has he been the one who does only what is best for him and catered for his own needs above anyone else's. Too long has he favoured the winning side. Of couse, he was only a member of the Order whilst Dumbledore was alive, now he's dead the power is dead. So he came here to pursue power. Horrid man, how can he sit here and watch Lucius Malfoy do this to me. He knows how much I hate the man. He knows everything, and yet he is allowing all of this to happen. I gasp, watching Malfoy's crooked fingers approach the top button of my shirt, the cotton is so thin and delicate that I already feel naked. Desperate, once again, I glance over to Snape with one last pleading look.

"Malfoy may I remind you why the Dark Lord reinstated the Marriage Laws of the previous Ministry. Marriage between the pureblood families is crucial to the success of our final goal. That is why marriage is a life long commitment that involves only the wizard and his wife, any violation of this law, by a well-informed minister such as yourself is seen as a grave offence."

Malfoy stops abruptly, and swerves around to my saviour: "Sorry Sev, I forgot you were still here. May I point out my lack of interest in your opinion," he grabs a fist of cotton and buttons and wrenches it apart. My skin turns pale at exposure.

"Our duty is to the Dark Lord, both of us are bound to serve him," he says, coming closer but still a barrier is between us, he is not close enough for me to stretch out and touch.

"I am doing my duty, this is an act you have committed numerous times yourself, so you are not one to preach about Marriage Laws."

Impatiently Snape raises his wand and aims, his nerves make the tip quiver but I have no doubt that he will use it, I know now that I am safe: "Only under his command do we do such acts. Only when he licenses us to, now let her go and I will assure she gets her just punishment."

Malfoy hurls me across the room, like a toy he no longer wants to play with. Snape snatches me into his arms and holds me close; the palm of his hand strokes my hairline to comfort me. I take deep breaths and force my body to relax.

"Just? Nothing about what I want to do to your wife is merciful. Now put the wand away and stand back against the wall." He has his own wand poised, and aiming perfectly to his rival's chest. I feel my safety net being pulled away as Snape backs off any obeys. He was taunting me, letting me think he would protect me when really he won't. Malfoy moves his wand away from him and I assume he will put it away and continue his work on me.

But he doesn't, he aims it towards me with an even greater evil written on his face. I breathe in but my lungs refuse to take breath. I know what is coming next.

"Crucio."


	9. Chapter 9

Another shriek of pain fills my body as every limb electrifies and my nerves squeal. I rocket back and forth for roughly thirty seconds before I master the art of breathing and my heart beat returns to normal. It's over for another ten minutes, roughly. It was about eight hours ago when Malfoy inflicted the Unforgivable Curse on me, but I am still having the spasms that follow. Night is closing in outside, but daytime didn't come to Azkaban anyway. I lay on the flat mattress of the bed with my head resting against a pillow that has lumps and vile owl feathers poking out. I am alone, and I daren't go through the fireplace to Grimmauld Place, I don't want Harry to see me in this state. The mattress is stained with my sweat and some droplets of blood that came from my nose, which has scabbed over now. My mind won't stop racing with evil thoughts of how close I was to being raped and then the punishment I had to endure because Malfoy had been deprived of that. The Crucatious curse when described may sound like a wizarding form of a Muggle beating but it makes every cell in your body jerk and soar. I studied it in Hogwarts and, according to this book I read, if I had been subjected to it for two minutes longer my cells would have exploded. I felt like I had reached the pinnacle point where I could no longer endure anymore of the pain, so I lie on the bed with the mattress gently covering me. I daren't touch any part of myself in case it will send my nerves to chaos. I don't want to be touched by anyone else, every again.

My ears curse loudly and ring at a high frequency due to the disturbance they receive. The disturbance being the door to my room being swung open and then slammed again. Slowly I turn my strained neck, which is swelled up to twice its size and muscles have been torn due to the continuous swaying. Snape remains the other side of the room, fixing a drink, gulping it then filling it up again. He takes another tumbler down from the cabinet and fills that up also. Slowly he walks over to me.

"Here, have this. I have used it many times after attacks," he passes me the liquid; it smells of a typically brewed healing potion.

"Thank you," I say, like a grateful child. I still haven't decided whether I trust him or simply despise him. My emotions towards him are fraught after today.

"I will also brew you a sleeping draught, no doubt you need it tonight," he says and then sits down on the edge of the bed. The mattress slopes down from the pressure and I feel myself naturally tilting towards him.

"Please understand why I had to let Lucius curse you. It is compulsory for Death Eater's to receive their dose of Unforgivable curses if they disobey the Dark Lord in any possible form. I have endured it many times and it is something I have hardened my heart to. I wasn't going to allow Lucius to take advantage of you though, however, I'm afraid I did so at a price."

"A price? What do you mean?" I say, my voice very coarse and faint.

"I have really pissed him off this time, what Lucius wants he very often gets. He will be keeping a closer eye on us, getting the house elves to report back to him about our conversations, the potions we have stored and any books or letters," he lowers his tone, "I trust you know not to leave things around here that may reveal anything."

He trusts me? That's the first time he's given me any credit as an adult. I lay down deeper in my pillow and don't even attempt to stop myself from yawning.

"You need sleep, I will begin on that draught," Snape said, lifting himself up and ready to leave me.

"Don't just yet," I say, not understanding why I need his company but I guess even his is better than none, "I've been laid here, just thinking and thinking all afternoon." I can already feel the potion he gave me taking effect. A sensation in my bones is telling me that they are strengthening and my muscles relax to their normal movable state. He is a genius, to make the pain go away so easily, I wonder whether this sleeping draught will do the same for my emotional scars.

He reaches out and strokes my hair and forehead, and unbelievably I see a small but warm smile appear on his face: "You are the bravest woman I have ever met. I see that being in Gryffindor with those dunderheads did you some good," he says. I look with disbelief but then dismiss the grateful feeling that I am experiencing. Everybody is telling me that I am brave but who's to say it is a virtue?

"What's wrong?" he says, he notices how distant I am.

I look at him and find this the perfect opportunity to pry into his past ten years, I need to know exactly what kind of man I am trusting: "Tell me about being a Death Eater, what have you had to do?"

He sighs, and makes himself more comfortable on the bed beside me, he has bags hanging down under his eyes and his lined face looks ready for sleep, yet he still opens his mouth ready to explain: "What do you want me to say? Many months are taken up patrolling prison wards, training in the dark arts and brewing endless potions for the Dark Lord. I am the most skilful at potion brewing and so am responsible for all the important ones. Some even take me months to perfect, the Dark Lord will just demand: 'Make me a potion that does such and such' it doesn't matter whether it is an impossible task. I get other, less important, servants to collect the ingredients for me and often blame it on them when I have purposely messed it up."

I look at him surprised; I would never imagine my old Professor to purposely cock up a potion, not after all the pleasure he used to gain when any of us did. I realise though why he has to do it.

"


	10. Chapter 10

The heavy door creeps open, scraping across the well-trodden floor. I stand where a mat used to be, where the customers used to wipe the mud of their feet before entering the shop, but now it's best to wipe your feet when leaving. I am faced with aisle upon aisle of jars, disorderly and unlabelled. Not what's expected from the best supplier in London but the Magical Capital has become entirely a black market. I presume this used to be Diagon Alley, the architecture of the building, olde traditional style still looming in the air. But it no longer has any of the character to it. I scan my eyes along the rows, trying to find what I want. Clearly each jar contains a useful ingredient for potion brewing but the laziness and lack of care is obvious. Most creatures are still alive, whether they are supposed to be or not, and their tortured faces and tightly compressed bodies tells me it would be much kinder to relive them from the stain of life. Most of the jars are now dusty and the herbs have begun to decay and wither from lack of sunshine. The fresh ingredients create a thin line at the front of the stack, behind is all the rot, painstakingly obvious, but who cares? Let everything rot just below the surface.

I approach the front desk with caution, presumably if spells are frowned upon in this day and age, potion brewing is unspoken of. _Every potion is a bad potion, used only for the Dark Arts _they tell the young witches and wizards at the new teaching school. They are right, and the potion I will brew is to kill, the darkest intention of the dark arts. I raise my head to the man at the desk; he is small and stubbly with old rags on. Clearly he is here to make as much of a living out of this wreck as possible. He is not the owner of this shop but just another who is being exploited by long hours and next to no pay, Marx would have a couple of harsh words for Britain's wizarding economy, that is for sure. Just past one wall of brick is the prospering shops of Central London and here we are with all our spells and incantations doing nothing for the great economic flop.

The man looks up at me, his fingers quivering and teeth chattering: "I'm under orders not to take custom from women, especially not such a ripe and fresh young lass such as ya'self," he barks, dutifully.

I open my mouth to explain but then realise words aren't necessary. I raise the sleeve of my long black robe to reveal the Dark Mark. I'm not ashamed of using it as a tool, it can be a lethal weapon if I want it to be and it certainly helps me get things done. Nobody dares to disobey a Death Eater.

The man at the desk appears to physically shrink when he realises what I am showing him. His eyes grow twice as large and his tongue slathers out with awe. Unworthy, he must have been, to recruit to the Dark Army. He is a believer in the cause, like many who have been indoctrinated that way.

"Welcome Madam, what would you like? All our ingredients are fresh and suitable for use," he pants; beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

"That I very much doubt," I charm; his eyes grow wider than I thought was possible, as he fears I may report him.

"I need five ounces of lacewing flies, 5 leeches, powdered bicorn horn, ten ounces of knotgrass, three strands of knotgrass, as much boomslang skin as you have in stock and some fluxweed that must have been picked at full moon." I tumble out, with a satisfaction.

"Right madam, let me see about all of that," he chirps, moving the numbers and ingredients through in his mind as he dashes up and down the aisles. Skidding back with a handful of jars he gives me a knowing look: "Polyjuice potion."

"Pardon?" I say, upholding my cold exterior.

"You're brewing another Polyjuice Potion, I've had many requests for it lately, something to do with needing it to fool the Spanish Minster, I heard on the grapevine. Lucky for you lot that I keep well stocked up," he says, anxious to look involved and important.

"I'd be careful, if I were you, disclosing such information in a public place to a complete stranger. Lord only knows where the eyes and ears of our enemies are. It is no business of yours what this potion will be brewed for, and if I were you I would keep one's grapevine to one's self," I say, in an aristocratic fashion that Narcissa Malfoy would be proud to sport.

I use a simple shrinking charm on the jars, after checking they are correct, and place them in the inner-pocket of my robe. I give the shop assistant a venomous glare and turn swiftly on my heel to leave. The shop door clicks shut behind me and soft fresh waves gush on my face. I love the outside, where nature can touch me without evil. Turning left I look down the longitude of the street. Most old shop windows are bordered up with Muggle cardboard, if I move too close a stronger force of resistance will be inflicted, an expelling curse that will throw me into the shop across the street. In return that shop will expel me to the one opposite, so effectively I will become the ball in "Angry Shop Tennis". The few shops that are not bordered up, like Potions, are simply titled with what they sell and have no elaborate sales propaganda. Boring, you could say. Mild. Not worth visiting. The street is deserted, but a few rats and me.

Pop. I hear it and twitch my head around, looking down the street back the way I came. A man approaches me. He is around medium height, broad shoulders with his hands hunched into the pockets of his waterproof puffed up anorak. His blue wash jeans hang down vertically until they dab into the puddles of the cobble street and his nearly white trainers sludge through to stop just infront of mine. I look up at him, very mid-thirties Muggle, unique to this area. His brow has too many lines for his age and his pure blue eyes, though looking focused, look worn out and exhausted of love. His hair is strictly short, balding possibly on top. Although he may appear trapped, outside of everything I used to know him, I see he has found security and more freedom than I ever have.

"Frederick Weasley," I say in posh-like mocking tone, which is a test to see if he still has his old humour.

"Hermione Snape." Obviously he has.

"Do you remember this place?" I sigh, inviting him to maybe warm up to the memories we share.

"Why, of course I do, that used to be my shop," he points up the street to the only shop that is still painted flamboyantly. The defiance of the colours are appropriate to our situation, Fred hasn't given up yet.

"May I ask how life has been treating you these past ten years?" We walk side by side, like close friends but without holding much eye contact.

"Not bad. Could be a lot worse. I erm," he stops and I see that infamous red glow engulf his face, "I, well, I now work in a fancy dress and joke shop in Mansfield, renting the flat just above out of my wages. It leaves little money for much else. It's a safe living and it's a place that You-Know-Who would never dream of searching."

I smile approvingly; "So you managed to fit in okay, you know, with the new culture and all?"

"What culture? We are talking Mansfield. If I wanted to move somewhere to enlighten my experience of life I would be a hundreds of miles away from where I am now. But this place is fine, if you like kebabs and cheap beer. I'm into the easy life now, no facing demons or toxic potions. I hate to say it but I have become rather boring."

"Boring and Fred Weasley don't mix, I don't believe it! You must find some way of getting your kicks..."

"Well, I guess there's The Lexis on Saturday nights, pick up a couple of birds for the night and then finding myself the next morning in the middle of the park wearing girl's underwear," he sniggers.

"Charming, the life of a bachelor," I tease, we beam at each other for a couple of seconds, both not wanting the light atmosphere to fade. We both open our mouths occasionally; ready to say something, but then shyly close it again thinking it may not be appropriate. Awkwardness begins to develop.

"So… How is Ron?" Fred asks once we turn a corner into another deserted street.

"Ron?" I say, suddenly remembering that it is he Fred came to see and not I. I can't tell the truth about Ron without ruining the friendly spirit between us.

"You told me you saved him, how is my brother?" Anxiety is flooding through the small tears on his face. I know I can't skim around the truth.

"Well, to be brutally honest Fred," I begin, and then bite my lip hesitating, "he's crazy. And when I say crazy I don't mean Weasley's Wheezes crazy I mean he has lost his mind. I think the torment of Azkaban was just too much for him."

Fred tenses the muscles in his face and looks down to the cobbled street; he brings a hand up and starts picking at the stubble on his chin, a sign of worry.

"I'm sure he's still getting over the shock," he says in an attempt to convince himself.

I relax myself and remember that Fred needs comfort, "Just wait till you see him, he may feel better once he sees you, after all you are family."

Fred stops abruptly in his tracks making me rewind backwards a couple of yards to keep near: "What's wrong?" I ask in the most sympathetic but slightly patronising tone.

"Nothing!" he replies, "I'm just sick of wandering up and down these barren streets. You said you'd take me to the headquarters and there is no time like the present," he beams, with a big cheesy smile on his face that hides a complex of emotions contrary to it.

I approach him, ready to take his arm and fly off to Grimmauld Place but then remember my rather unusual assignment for the day as a Death Eater: "We have to make a quick stop off at Hogsmeade first Fred, I'm sorry."

He gives me, as expected, a confused look: "Why? What is there now? I heard that the shops have all been ransacked and the only place left in business is the Hogs Head, which is hardly surprising. George and I always knew that there were some dodgy dealings went on in there, too dodgy even for our enterprise." He suddenly shrinks on himself, after a few seconds of found reminiscence he is reminded of the great loss that followed. I stand in silence for a while but then realise that time is moving on.

"It's my erm, job, if you can call it that. My job for the day as a Death Eater, we sometimes get given daily tasks and I'm expected to report back tomorrow morning with my findings."

"What job? Report to whom? What findings? You really do what they tell you to do? I thought that you…"

He's babbling now, damn it, I should have come back and done the task later. I stop him in his tracks: "Fred, I've been asked to go to the Shrieking Shack and evict its inhabitants. I don't know who they are but apparently the Dark Lord wants to use the Shrieking Shack as a spy hole for Hogsmeade. That is all I know. Now come with me please, so that I can prove to you that I would never harm someone!"

"In my view evicting someone from their home is…" – I quickly apparate him to the edge of Hogsmeade. God – such a chatterbox! We land safely but as I let go a look of fury spreads across Fred's face. He makes a pathetic little growling noise that portrays his disapproval.

"Don't worry Fred, I'll put them up in the Hogs Head for a couple of weeks until they find someplace new." I grab hold of his well-padded arm and drag him across the muddy lane leading up to the house. The sun is setting, radiating a thin crimson line behind the house that illuminates it with fire. Eventually Fred stops resisting me and we approach the door.

"Knocking required? Or are we just going to barge in like those lunatics you work for?" Fred says, half joking, half deadly serious.

I give the door four firm knocks, scattering dust across our faces, coughing and spluttering I open it. The place looks deserted: no pots and pans in no sinks or sofas facing television sets. I am reminded of my first visit to this place, the derelict atmosphere, desertedness.

"Nobody home, what a shame. Come on places to go people to see," Fred pushes, breaking the silence and my thoughts. I look over to him, his hands are crossed across his chest and he's pacing slowly, anxious to leave.

Suddenly, we startle as we hear a thud upstairs and I presume someone is coming down to us, the banging continues, this person is mad at our intrusion. Nervously I edge further forward. The floor boards directly above me creak in turn, one after another, moving towards the stairs I can see at the end of this room. A sweaty hand grabs onto mine and I notice the redness of Fred's face, the bloodshot wideness of his eyes.

Then an outrageously high pitched shriek fills our ears. The shriek that the Shack is famous for. I cover my ears and tightly shut my eyes, not wanting to be here and hoping if I see no evil they'll be no evil.

Pop! Has someone else just entered the shack? I open my eyes slowly, still squinting and cringing, I am scared like a little girl. A deep breath is needed, some focus, who is it that's just come and who made that dreadful scream? My vision clears and I notice that Fred is on the floor, his body scrunched up in an aims to defend himself. Hovering over on its hind legs is a wolf, teeth bared and ready for a meal. My head goes dizzy as I lose the nerve to face up to this creature.

My breath becomes laboured, as my muscles tighten with panic: "Stop, please stop," I beg futilely.

"He's not capable of stopping," A soft voice beckons behind me, I swerve around, "Lucius tricked you, he sent you here to be killed. I came as soon as I realised."

Snape looks calmer than I expect him to be, resting against an unstable old table, staring down at the situation. I look at Fred on the floor, untouched so far and beginning to cry with dread. Then my eyes drift up to the wolf, his eyes so focused with something, not anger or the need for raw meat, but a deep passion of loss, a deprivation. I realise who this wolf is.


	11. Chapter 11

In this chapter the Order members gather together to discuss strategies, but Hermione finds it very difficult to get their cooperation. The other members are faithless and unsupportive; this makes her task extra difficult.

"Christ sake shut up everybody!" I yell in a maddening attempt to hush the hustle and bustle of the Order members. Officially this is the first Order meeting in about a decade and an unfortunate choice of chair has been decided – myself! I look around the room. Harry is sat, still unshaven and dishevelled, making snide remarks to Fred about how my schemes are futile. Fred nods in agreement every now and then but glances over to me, obviously still trusting me. Snape scowls at the back, a shadow looming over him from the tapestry hung up on the opposite wall. He has successfully managed to find a place to see but not be seen, although I am perfectly aware of his presence. He has decided not to draw attention to himself, as many Order members would naturally distrust a man whose been living on the "Dark Side" for ten years. The other members I managed to scramble together are: old Filius Flitwick, retired now to a villa in France, presumed dead by many and only here to play a minor part; Neville Longbottom, a pleasant surprise to have him back on the team but sadly he seems to have not grown out of his old foolish teenage traits and Colin Creevery who must have joined the Order after I left and is giving me quite bewildered looks. I take another long look at my warriors, a man's world this sure is yet I don't think even collectively these men are fit for the job.

"Now to begin with…" I say with as much authority as I can muster.

"We are going to learn how to transfigure a sewing needle into a thimble," Harry teases.

I give him a harsh look: "Now come on Harry, don't make me take points off my own house." A light chuckle fills the air, as the many Gryffindor's in the room reminisce slightly on those days. The only Slytherin in the room gives me an acidic look that speaks of: _Get on with it, we can't stay any longer than an hour._

"Now Filius, I trust you sent an owl to the Spanish Minister this morning warning him, anonymously, about the threat revealed to me by the nice little shopkeeper." I chirp, starting the agenda with a small matter that I felt earlier was my duty to act upon. Flitwick nods courteously, his lips tightly pursed together. I can tell the little man has only come to uphold his loyalties to Dumbledore, he doesn't intend on getting caught up in the crossfire.

"Thank you," I respond, then turn to Snape with a look of unknowing, willing him to approve of my next point. His lips form a snarl but he nods slightly.

"Okay, well," I say and then stop, trying to not stammer, "Let's not waste anymore valuable time with chatter. We all know why we are here and I'm sure we're all delighted that Harry is too."

Harry tuts a little and shuffles his feet, looking unpleasantly around the room at his old friends. A look of detest still on his face he clears his throat: "What Hermione is trying to say is that she has a scheme to destroy Voldemort."

The room physically shakes with nerves at the mention of the name. I give Harry a cursing look then continue, "Thank you for that Harry. It's quite simple really, we need a volunteer to donate a strand of DNA, a lock of hair perhaps, to enable Harry to take a Polyjuice potion. This means he will transform into that person and gives him a safer passage into Azkaban. Once there the Death Eaters will arrest him thinking they've caught a foolhardy Order member but not realise its Harry and…"

I stop, taking a deep breath. I realise that this idea is only making sense to myself, and the few that have already heard about it. Colin Creevery looks like he used to in his first year, holding up a Quidditch banner and cheering his housemates on but not actually understanding the rules of the game.

A plump hand is raised, I look at Neville: "I will volunteer," he says. I smile, ever noble and Gryffindor he is. A responsive murmur is heard from a few others, except Harry who still appears to be scowling.

"Right, well I'm glad you simply trust me on this one. It's not water tight and the next stage of planning is to decide what is the best thing to do once Harry is actually in Azkaban," I reveal, and then open my hands in the form of an offering, "Any suggestions?"

Flabbergasted the room gawp at me. Any suggestions? They must be thinking: I You are the Death Eater, and the brain box, you give us the suggestions. /I I wait patiently for thirty seconds, hoping a light bulb may appear magically above one of their heads. Vacant expressions and occasional half-hearted smiles is all I am receiving.

"Honestly, the only form of resistance towards the greatest power of evil this country has faced is half a dozen men totally reliant upon one woman." Patronising is something men do to women but I stand over them reversing the roles.

"I am sure you will think up something Hermione, you always used to, let us know when you do," Harry replies dismissively, then rises up from his chair and sluggishly heads towards the door. Disgusted I open my mouth to call him back but as I do Colin anxiously follows. The risen atmosphere in the room must have been too much for him. Neville follows suit and then Flitwick.

"Stupid lot, aren't they? And they used to call me immature!" Fred jesters. I smile encouragingly at him. "Come on Missy, you have a potion to begin and I'm sure an extra pair of hands won't go amiss."

"Honestly Granger, you're not going to leave the potion in the incapable hands of a Weasley are you?" Snape remarks.

I turn sharply, having forgotten his presence. He has just surveyed previous events with great detail and I am now prepared for the sarcastic comments that will follow.

"Prejudice will get you nowhere, Severus." I remark, clearly he didn't like being put on the same par as the other male members of the Order when I described them as incompetent.

"Pass me the fluxweed please, Fred," I say through the thick mist covering us. Spluttering and splattering he hands it over, I smile slightly, he's not a natural potion brewer.

"I remember quite a few nifty formulas you cooked up back in the day of Weasley's Wizard Wheezers," I joke, nudging and tickling him whilst he reaches into the cauldron. He stops and looks over to me. I stick out my tongue and splash some water over his face.

"Arrrrgh! What you doing?" He jumps up and down like a kangaroo, desperately trying to get the harmless substance out of his eyes.

"Calm down you idiot. Honestly, Fred, you really think I'd be stupid enough to splash a half-baked potion into your face?" He looks over and grins widely. Once again I stick out my tongue.

"No good in scaring off your only helper," he reminds me and I immediately grow angry at the rest of them useless, pathetic, wimpy and squirmy men! Fred really is the only one with half a backbone, and I include Snape in this judgement, he's the worst. He's only supporting this to meet his own ends, it doesn't take much for him to betray us, and then we will all be dead.

"It makes me angry Fred, that they behave like they've given up so much to be here and they're sacrificing so much. They act like they're only doing this out of duty to someone who is already dead and a prophecy that may never be fulfilled. They expect me to do most of the work and behave like they're the only ones who have lost something." I stop there, remembering that my family are not dead like Fred's. I need to be grateful for what I have.

"You must really miss them," is my reply. Fred sits down on one of the stools, and looks at me with understanding. "I did, but I've come to terms with my loss. You are living it."

"It's not like they're not safe though." I dismiss him; something inside me is reluctant to opening up. I look down to my feet and bite my lip.

"You fear that if you get caught then You-Know-Who will find them," Fred explains, so perfectly true he is. Such a fool am I to risk the three people I love the most.

"It isn't just that," I confess, an event moving forward into my mind, "When I got your letter it awakened something inside me, the will to fight. I began packing and forcing myself not to back down from the task I'd assigned myself. My husband has always wanted to shelter me, and it was him truthfully who forced me to leave the Order. He told me that if I leave the family for the wizarding world then I've left them for good. He meant it too, when he says these things he means it."

I look up, tears forming in my eyes: "Oh Fred! I made my decision and left anyway. I believed a greater good was at stake. So if I back down now I have nothing to go back to. My marriage is over and my children don't know the first thing about magic, they'd be best with their father."

Fred came over slowly, put his strong arm around my shoulder and hugged me tightly. I clutch onto him fast, sniffling a little into his lap. Feeling more and more vulnerable I left my head up and look with great round brown eyes.

"Don't worry 'Mione. You haven't lost them. I wouldn't be too sure that your children are simply Muggles. After all you're about the most powerful Muggleborn witch born in decades. He will be more proud of you when you come home to him, and relived also, that he'll forget that heavy condemnation."

"No Fred, he won't. My husband has always been a pacifist. He's a strong supporter of diplomacy in British politics and is very outspoken about it. He doesn't understand the magical world or the idea that peaceful methods are futile. I try to compare the Death Eaters to terrorist groups but he doesn't seem to comprehend. The fact I have become one, even if it's a disguise, is unforgivable. I know my husband, his principles are more important than his marriage."


	12. Chapter 12

This dank and dismal place I'm resorted to sleep in every night! The hours that have passed with me lying here, trying to make sense of why I'm not in a warm bed with an affectionate husband. I lie still as I believe _he _ is sleeping beside me, heavy purring comes out of his breath, smoothly transcending into the air. Some women would call it seductive but not this one. This one is regretting leaving the Muggle world, especially for this - a prison cell with an empty fireplace. I've spent most of tonight agitated at the Order; wondering why they acted the way they did. They are nothing but faithless fiends. Now I don't know what to do! Do I carry on with an extravagant scheme toward defeating Voldemort in hope I won't die in vain? Or do I just carry on being a Death Eater; making meetings with the Pathetic Order and carrying out a passive resistance? I don't know which is the least attractive. I'm not scared of death but I don't want to die a futile death. I lie petrifying still as to not break the deadly aura. My mind begins to freeze over with worry and doubt.

Suddenly I feel movement to the side of me. The mattress springs up and then the great weight is lifted off the bed. A thud is heard as his feet hit the ground. I remain still, he probably needs a drink, and I don't want to acknowledge myself as awake. His feet are heard only occasionally; a slight patter on the stone floor. The door opens and a pool of light is allowed in from the corridor, a delicate orange colour that flickers against the grey - candlelight.

"Thanks for seeing me sir. I hope I haven't disturbed your slumber," begs a man on the other side of the door, he sounds child-like with a hint of impatience in his voice.

"What do you want Draco? This better be worth my waking," Snape groans in an almost inaudible tone yet the threatening malice is still present.

"I want you to know," says Draco. Then he stops and makes murmuring sounds, unsure of himself. My blood boils. I've always despised that slimy ferret!

"What is it that you want me to know, Draco?" Snape snaps, his intrigue noticeable but also his tiredness.

"I know about Hermione Granger!" rages Draco, raising his voice with determination.

I open my eyes suddenly, alert to the conversation, but yet remind myself to remain still. If Draco knows then surely Lucius will too, and then that's it, I'll be dead by morning. Snape ushers Draco out of the room. He reluctantly complies. I briefly see his face in the candlelight, contorted with hate, still as pale and meek as before. His physique is lanky; although taller than Snape he's not in the slightest bit intimidating. I inwardly giggle to myself. Lucius' only son has inherited nothing but his father's arrogance but not the persona needed to accompany it. This eases my panic slightly: Snape's smooth and assured movements allow me to assume that he'll find some way to persuade the idiot toward his way of thinking. The door closes and I am left in silence. Quickly I pick myself up out of bed and rummage through my belongings. Underneath the assortment of knickers and socks I find a strange device, a pair of rubber ears attached to a long tube. One of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezers best inventions – the Extendable Ears. I thread them through the small crack in the door and concentrate.

"Wait till father knows you've smuggled that Mudblood into Azkaban. You wont only lose your position in the Inner Circle but your head will be hung up at the front entrance, right next to your hero's!" snarls Malfoy, I can tell he is thoroughly enjoying this.

"I can assure you that is not what will happen," replies Snape in a smooth and assured voice.

"I can! The Dark Lord despises all traitors and we all know you used to be a spy for Dumbledore," retorts Malfoy.

"Did it ever enter your miniscule brain that I was told to hunt down Miss Granger by The Dark Lord himself? And also told to resume my position as a spy within the Order? I've done much work in these past weeks. Much more work than the rest of you feeble lot have done since you joined the ranks. I've not only been able to flush many Order members out of their little hiding places but I've also flushed out Potter as well. Oh – you look a little nervous now young man. Understand this, the Dark Lord is quite satisfied with my current work, very satisfied indeed!"

My heart misses a beat. What if this is Snape telling the truth? I realize that I have absolutely no proof which side he is really on. So far I've trusted him, the most stupid thing I could ever have done.

"Bu-bu-but how come father thinks she's nothing but a prostitute!" objects Draco defiantly.

"Your father has never had a high regard of me because of my apparent allegiance with Dumbledore so I assumed it would be less trouble for myself to simply lie about her identity."

"But she's here, in Azkaban, reporting things to the Order. We'll have them fighting us next," Malfoy's voice was one of panic, "Aurors and people from the old Ministry."

"Hardly, the Order at the moment comprises of a few of Harry's old school friends and old Professor Flitwick. Even you could take them out."

A long silence follows. I can almost see through the door Draco's mind searching for another comeback. A growl is heard as he frustratingly tries to find a reason.

"Satisfied Draco?"

"No I'm not! How is anyone supposed to know whether you're really on our side," he snarls, stamping his foot against the stone floor, which sounds rather amusing through these rubber ears.

"You don't Draco. You lack the ability to grasp anything other than the brutality of the Dark Arts – Blood rituals, beatings, thieving and worse. As a student you never grasped the subtlety behind the more portent of the Dark Arts. To be honest you were nothing more than average at potion making and the only thing you showed an ounce of talent for was the curses your father presumably taught you, most of which failed anyway on the Potter boy."

Snape's voice then lowered once again to deadly wisps of velvet syllables as he spoke: "Whereas I, Draco, am from a different stance than you. I understand that brute force results in nothing but catastrophe whereas cunning and manipulation, given careful time and planning, will eventually result in Miss Granger doing my will."

"You-you-you're sleeping with her?" Draco's voice sounds full of angst and naivety.

"Like I said Draco your brutal tendencies will disallow you from ever becoming more than one of The Dark Lord's cronies. He'll never entrust on you such an important task as he's given me with Miss Granger," then he hesitates, "But just to feed your curiosity, in hope you may leave, no I am not but if I intended to I'm sure I could."

My body shudders through and through. I slump down on the oak door, a wave of nausea filling my brain, swimming around and around. My first instincts are to leave; if I leave quickly enough maybe he won't follow me. If I hide away deep enough maybe he won't find me. I realize though, deep down, that this will not work. I am in too deep; I can't pull away from this without risking everyone else's lives. Snape has access to Grimmauld Place. He can kill the rest of the Order in their sleep and bring Harry to The Dark Lord without much of an effort. Another great lump of emotion fills me, shredding my pride into tiny little pieces. The rest of the Order was right, Snape shouldn't be trusted and Harry should never have left Hogwarts. I have forced them into danger whilst insisting that they were mistaken. Why did I assume I was right? What gave my opinion more prominence than any other persons? I feel a wave of nostalgia hit me, remembering my bossy tendencies as a teenager and my determination to stick by my own beliefs. I am still that narrow-minded know-it-all but now it's proved fatal, people's lives are at risk. My own friend's lives are at risk! And my families! Oh God help me – What have I done?

Still shrunken on the floor I feel the oak door press against my side, like a heavy rod pushing me across the floor. Through blurry tears I see a black boot stand inches away from my face and then a hand reach down and grab something from inside my own clasped hand. I let go of it feebly, sobbing like a child.

"What are these? Please don't tell me you were listening to that conversation," says Snape, using his most silky and seductive voice that could almost be mistaken for kindness.

"Yes I did," I say, then heave myself up off the floor and rise up to standing level. A burst of fury suddenly hits my body. "So you are using me! Why of course you are, no point in supporting the losing team after all. That certainly isn't your style. Subtle Dark Arts aye – is that what you call being a two-faced slimy git? The most laughable thing about it is that you almost had me fooled."

Then, completely ironic and inappropriate to the situation, I actually begin cackling like a cliché witch on Halloween over a bubbling cauldron. Louder and louder my voice transcends, the absurdity filling the room. Snape watches, his mouth agape, dumbfounded by what he is witnessing.

"Please Hermione clam yourself before you begin to attract attention. Do you want our plans to be discovered?" he grabs hold of me, trying to clamp my mouth shut whilst squeezing my upper left arm tightly until I feel it begin to numb with pain.

"No!" I scream loudly, "I want your plan to be destroyed. I've figured that I'm going to die anyway so what's it matter what happens after? See if I care whether Harry dies and Voldemort takes over the world." A wave of fear instantly runs through my own body as I mention the name. It is like my physical self is being punished for the wrath of my spirit.

"This isn't you Hermione. You do care. You care more than anyone else in the world. You're the bravest most honorable witch of your time – you know that. I don't need to flatter you! Do you honestly think I'd be foolish enough to bring you here if I really was supporting the other side? Not when I know you have the ability to destroy this entire place single handedly."

I protest, laughing still and shaking my head violently: "You think I have the ability? I couldn't actually kill a fly on the wall and you know that. I've nothing more than the wand I own. You're the one with all the knowledge of the Dark Arts, all those spells and potions in that old book of yours. Do you remember that? What did you call yourself again? The Half-Blood Prince! Ha – I remember. You were Harry's protagonist for an entire year until he found out your true identity. Nobody trusted you after that so why the hell did I begin trusting you again? Foolish foolish Hermione, so Gryffindor of me, always looking for good in people."

We stare at each other for long moments, each wanting to lash out but not quite knowing how. Eventually it's me who breaks the tension: I turn around; press my head against the wall and try to stop myself from crying. I feel him move closer to me, he places his hands on my shoulders, massaging one finger just underneath my right shoulder blade. Somehow it calms me, my muscles become less tense and I raise my head from the cold stone of the wall.

"Why don't we for a minute stop arguing about whether or not I am evil and whether or not you are brave? They are two highly controversial issues that I don't think will be resolved until the end of this war. Although I know it appears that the former is an undeniable fact and the latter has already been proved by your recent actions. Please Hermione, I won't rest again tonight until we have resolved this dispute and we both know how to carry on."

"Carry on? I don't think I want to do that anymore. I don't trust you. We have nothing else to talk about." I move away from him and toward the fireplace. I pick up some of the Floo powder in my hand, feeling the small granules of grain. I want to leave. I don't want to leave. Why am I like this?

Slowly, so slow in fact that I barely see him moving, Snape approaches and picks up my tender hand. He gently pries open my fingers and tips the Floo powder onto the floor. I watch it drop silently, only a trickle falling at a time, giving small glimmers of light in the gray room. I keep watching, some of the powder falling on my cloak and some on his. Eventually the last grain leaves my palm. I look up at him once again.

"I don't think you will leave Hermione. I think you will stay until all this is over even if I am evil," he says, his lips close to mine, "I don't think you will leave even if you know for certain that I am evil."

"You'll betray me," I reply, wanting to move away but somehow finding myself stationary. In the darkness his features are barely distinguishable and other than a flash of his white teeth, occasionally reflected by the moonlight, he is nothing but a silhouette.

"Will I?" he asks, "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because that's what the Dark Lord has instructed. Or is it that you want to convert me?" I question, the idea having only just dawned on me with great realization.

"Very smart Miss Granger, you are correct, the Dark Lord's instructions were for me to convert you. He sees you as a great asset to his ranks and a great tool to gaining power in the Muggle world."

I stand shocked for a second, my mind quivering with fear but my body not moving an inch.

"You mean to say you have every intention of turning me evil?" I ask eventually.

"Possibly. I would like to teach you things, Occlumancy for example, and other disciplines not available at Hogwarts. Would you like that?" he says, and I see the glittering white of his teeth form a sneering smile.

Furiously I smack him harsh across the face. My hand throbs from the instant collision and my mind races with the impulse to do it again. He recovers almost instantly and carries on boring his dark eyes into mine. A strange part of me is curious toward these disciplines he wants me to learn. My life so far has been a hunger for more knowledge. My Hogwarts existence was spent in the restricted section of the library. This dark side of me, that before now I vaguely acknowledged as existing, is creeping out with force. What are these subtle arts that he knows and I'm capable of learning? They could protect me and my family and my friends. I stand more of a chance against the Dark Arts if I am atoned with them. Is this what it all comes down to? Is it not enough to become a Death Eater by name? Do I also have to become a Death Eater by nature? It dawns upon me that this is what I'm required to do. Just pretending is not enough anymore. Of course, it wouldn't matter whether Snape is good or bad because I would be stuck between the two sides myself.

I look back at him. I believe he has just accessed my mind and so perfectly understands my thoughts. He looks at me with satisfaction, like he's accomplished something at long last. I don't say anything. He can speak first.

But he doesn't. He continues to stare at me with no intention of moving. I let out a meek gasp for air and as I do he sweeps me up off the ground and carries me, with a savagely hungry stride, toward the bed. In that moment I realiSe that my decision has been made. 


	13. Chapter 13

The curtains fly open and radiant sunlight fills the room. My eyes sting from the exposure; my lids no longer securing me in darkness; a reddish tint seeps through. I rub them furiously, whilst trying to stop my head from spinning on my shoulders. Waking up is always the hardest part of the day. I look around the room; Snape is already fully clothed. I assume he has duties to attend to and will be leaving me in peace. I have nothing to do until this afternoon. I intend on spending the morning doing nothing but brood over my own misfortune and cursing myself for allowing him to get the better of me last night.

"Wake up!" he bellows across the room. I stir a little then snuggle my head underneath the pillow.

"Maybe later," I murmur underneath it.

"The Dark Lord will not care whether or not you are a morning person, Hermione, now get up." He swipes the blanket from over my shoulders. My back is suddenly exposed to the harsh sunlight and scrutiny of his penetrating eyes. I immediately flinch and wiggle. I attempt to grab the blanket back, whilst trying to preserve my modesty by keeping my chest firmly planted on the mattress.

"Give it me back, you annoying fiend!" I scream at him. The mattress drops with a thud, once again it covers me. I clutch it around my person and turn around so that I'm facing him. He sits on the edge of the bed with his wand raised.

"It's your first Occlumancy lesson," he says then carelessly tosses me my own wand. "Sit up straight and concentrate."

I look at him gob-smacked. He cannot be serious? Yet the expression on his face tells me that he is. I hitch the blanket up so that only the top of my shoulders are exposed, the fresh air stinging them and creating ugly little goosebumps.

"Do you mind if I get dressed please, sir?" I ask in a mocking studentesque fashion.

The snarl that forms across his face makes me realise that it was a futile question to ask. "Hermione, let me explain something to you. There is no point in starting these lessons on an equal footing; because in front of the Dark Lord you will not have that privilege. There is no point in having our lessons in front of a warm fire with a mug of cocoa at our sides; because that is not the correct environment in which you will put your skills into practice. Do you understand?"

Well yes, of course I understand that, you patronising chauvinist! But that doesn't mean I have to endure my first lesson in the…

Oh what's the point? He's too stubborn to argue with: "Yes Professor," I say with a cheeky smile. I straighten my back and do a militaristic salute to show he has my full attention.

But then the strangest thing happens. Snape actually begins to smile. He chuckles lightly, his chest bouncing up and down in a merry fashion. This is the first time I've seen a happy expression across his face. I realise that I must be important, in some way, to bring about such a positive effect. He raises his wand and flicks it lightly. Manifested from thin air, a little gold box tied with a crimson ribbon appears. He lifts up the lid to reveal a dozen chocolate marzipans. I inhale the almond scent long enough for it to slightly creep into my taste buds. Then he slams the lid shut again.

"I'm going to try a simple philosophy in our lessons Hermione. You do something right and I give you a reward; but if you get it wrong you lose that safety blanket you are so desperately clinging to. Okay?" He looks at me with thorough enjoyment.

"Well I can therefore guarantee I won't make a mistake," I say cockily but then think on further. "What if I was to say that every time I get something right you have to do a forfeit? After all, if I'm a good Legilimens then I should successfully manage to put the Dark Lord on an equal footing. I may as well practice that realistic scenario with you, also, Severus?"

I prepare myself for the witty comeback. Slightly disappointingly I do not receive it; he just absorbs my suggestion and nods assuredly. "Well, well Hermione, if you wish it that way. In which case in our first lesson I will not be treating you as a novice, as neither would the Dark Lord."

I wish I'd never made the suggestion. This is going to be interesting. I position myself more comfortably on the bed, silently performing a holding charm on my blanket. I expect he will count to three….

"_Legilimens!_" he shouts immediately.

A strange mist forms around my vision. Finally it changes into many flashing images of my past: a day at the zoo when Harriet was just learning how to walk; me in a Potions lesson in my forth year; George's first day at school; Harry and Ron at the Yule ball; George playing football with his mates. My mind spins and spins constantly with images. Finally my mind places a memory of myself in my second year of Hogwarts; I am sneaking into Snape's cupboard, down in the dungeons, to find ingredients for a Polyjuice Potion.

My mind at this point breaks off and I cringe excessively at the memory. Snape lowers his wand and a teasing smile plays across his face. I pray that my holding charm is working correctly.

"I always knew you had been in my supplies, Hermione, and if I had sufficient proof at the time I would have guaranteed you'd never had made that infamous potion." He sneers, as if no time had lapsed between then and now.

"Next time, sir, can you please inform me of what to do in order to block your entry?" I ask, mad at not being given the chance to play fair.

"No Hermione, the Dark Lord will simply kill you if you block his entry. I'm going to teach you how to block certain images and select ones you want him to see. I see that many of those memories were ones of your children, so let's use that as our theme. On my next attempt I don't want to know anything about your family; so if I didn't know you at all I would assume you were unmarried and childless."

I like this idea. If I succeed in doing this my family may become better protected. I focus carefully, thinking of parts of my life that have been away from family; such as this recent adventure; my time at Hogwarts and days at work.

"One… two…three… _Legilimens! _" Snape booms slowly, so as to give me a chance this time.

Images of Harry come to mind immediately: him catching the snitch; producing a Patronus; using his Invisibility Cloak. Then an image of him waiting alone by the deserted lake, dishevelled and unshaven, comes to mind. I block it away immediately and as I do images of the previous night come to the surface. I observe helplessly the overhead conversation with Draco; the argument; and then the bit that followed…

I pull away immediately, physically falling back onto the bed. For a few moments I lose consciousness; then stir again by the sweet smell of almond. Instinctively I pick up one sweet; plop it into my mouth and chew.

"It's a shame you stopped as the memory was beginning to get interesting," he teases. I reach out my leg from under the mattress and kick him firmly. "No need to get moody with me. You willingly experienced it once last night. I'm sure you can't be that put off by seeing it from a third-person angle. Sit back up and get ready."

I begin to blush a little. How dare he be so utterly frank about these things?

"This time I don't mind you using memories of your family. However, if I see that ugly Potter boy's face one more time I swear that blanket, along with your pathetic attempt of a charm, will disapparate to the moon."

And with this we continued for about two or three hours; until all the marzipan chocolate had disappeared. After beginning to gain control over my own thoughts and emotions I actually began enjoying myself, not that I should be doing this at all. My behaviour this morning should be a mixture of embarrassment and disgrace. I made my decision though, I don't expect anyone else to understand. I'm not sure if I understand it yet myself.

"I have to go now," I say, and pick myself up. I scurry across the room, my feet pattering across the floor within the restrictions of my blanket. I reach the bathroom area and pull over the curtain.

"Where to?" he asks sternly. "Don't tell me you're going to see Potter."

"No, something quite worse than that," I say as I triumphantly pull on my robes. I now feel a certain amount of dignity is regained.

"Then I have no answer," he retorts. "There is nothing worse."

"This is getting rather pathetic," I say as I re-enter the bedroom and brush my hair into some sort of sensibility. "If you care to know, I'm off to do patrol duty. You know, keeping up the pretences of being a Death Eater, for Malfoy? I'll be on watch-out in the South Tower for the next three hours, if you should need me."

I head for the door, half expecting him to follow with some notion of me either not being trusted alone or incapable of doing the job. I don't receive either, so maybe he's finally beginning to know me. Time away from Snape will give me chance to think.

The South Tower is a brilliant place to contemplate; with the North Sea rushing towards the sharp cliffs; yet in the horizon the water is perfectly tranquil. The salty air is fresh on my face, purging away any sweat and tears that clogged there last night. I can see again into the long distance. I am facing England and facing home. I want to stay here forever. I'm sat in a small wooden seat with nothing to do but report any ships that may approach. Not that any dare venture this far north; no land can be seen for miles; not even the tip of Scotland. I heave out another heavy-hearted sigh and rest my head against the wall. All I need to do now is be careful not to fall asleep.

Without any warning, the door swings open. Three looming figures, with their wands raised, approach me.

"Granger," one snarls, the tallest but slimmest. The other two hang back, one on either side, symmetrically. The middle man lifts down his hood. I'm not even slightly surprised to see Draco's smarmy face.

"Uh – Draco, you sure this is a good idea? Your dad didn't allow you to…"

"Shut up Goyle!" Draco bites back. He spins around to face Crony Number One. I take this opportunity to lift my wand out of my…

"Expelliarmus!" shouts Crabbe, who unlike the other two is still alert. My wand speeds out of my hand, despite my desperate attempt to grab it back. Crabbe catches it in one of his large podgy hands. Damn, I gave his innovative too little credit.

Wandless, my heart begins to race, a torpedo forming inside my gut. Quickly I look out the window and measure the distance down to the sea. It is too far. I realise that the only survivable exit is blocked by two very large men. Draco begins to advance, a look of sheer pleasure on his face. I wonder if it will be the Crucatious Curse again or whether he will simply push me up and over the ledge. No, that would be too easy; he is a Malfoy after all. I steel my body and wait for a much more physical attack.

"_Impero! _" he shouts. "Now Granger, take me to where Potter is."

A green light illuminates at the foot of the door, leading out of the South Tower. Crabbe and Goyle move out of my way as I pass. I feel my master's wand, like a stick, pushing me along from behind.

"You promised we could have some fun with her after, didn't you?" insists Goyle.

"Yes, Malfoy, we're not kids anymore. We only do The Dark Lord's bidding unquestionably. Our help nowadays comes with a price," reinforces Crabbe.

As I turn to face the stairwell the green light illuminates each step before me. It forms a little ball of light. When I tread on it, it simply disappears and reappears on the next step. I continue to follow eagerly, all the way down the stairwell.

"Hurry up," groans my master to one of his fellows behind me. Awkward shuffling is heard as the two men, too obese to fit comfortably in the path, follow my master.

Once completing this part of the journey; the green light urges me to move down a corridor and then another to the left. I turn a sharp corner and the light rests upon an old oak door. As I move closer I see it burning on the latch. I use the latch to open the door. As I open it I feel an excited nudge from my master behind me; he wants me to continue into the room.

The light erupts into dazzling emerald flames at the fireplace. My body is filled with the overwhelming desire to enter. I can hear gasps and hushed voices behind me; but they are worthless compared to the burning feeling inside of me. Apprehensively I put one foot forward. The warmth shoots up into my entire body. I fulfil the transition and wait for my master to join me. He does with much speed.

I clearly pronounce, "Twelve Grimmauld Place."

The flames consume me but only for thirty seconds. After I am released I see a kitchen. I step out of the fireplace.

"Wait here," orders my master. I stand firmly.

A man walks toward me, I recognise him as Harry Potter.

"What are you doing here Hermione? What's going on?" he asks. I do not reply; I was not ordered to. "Snap out of it 'Mione, come on, wake up. Stop staring into space like that!" He begins to shake me. I feel uncomfortable with his use of force; but I do not try and stop him.

"There you are!" shouts my master. I look toward him for my next command but he doesn't go to me. He goes to Harry Potter, his wand raised. The two men prepare for a duel. I stand still and watch. Many different colours begin to squirt from the two wands, as the two of them run and dodge from every angle.

My master grabs hold of my arm and hides behind my body: "I command you to shield me."

I keep my body pressed against his and my eye watchful on the man wanting to attack us. I make sure that he cannot hex my master; not without hexing me.

"_Finite Incantrum_," yells Potter and a dazzling light engulfs my senses. "Didn't think of that one, did you Malfoy? _Stupefy!_"

My head hits the floor with a bang, my eyes dazzling, presumably from the sunlight. I must have nodded off and fallen from the chair. Why can't I hear the sea anymore?

I open my eyes to see a frozen Draco Malfoy, rigid on the floor. I look up; hovering over him is Harry. Adjusting to my surroundings I see an old table, chairs and a kitchen unit. I pick myself up. What the hell am I doing in Grimmauld Place? 


End file.
